Never be free
by James Tristan
Summary: Mat confronts the gholam after he has imprisioned it in the White Tower, but he will be drawn into a dangerous game when he underestimates just how frightenning 'mindless' Shadowspawn can be. AU & suggestions of slash. Complete.
1. An expected encounter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

**I was hit by this idea when I read RJ's recent 'Question of the Week' reply on the New Spring website. To my knowledge there isn't any other piece of fanfiction on here that has the _gholam_ in, who in my opinion is a really cool character! **

**This is kinda AU, as it is set in a time where the White Tower is friendly (enough) with Mat, and he isn't on the run from the Seanchan. I think of it as set several months after Crossroads of Twilight, although whether the Last Battle will have happened by then in the actual books, I don't know. This is just my version of what could happen.**

**For now it's PG-13, but it may go up as the chapters progress. **

* * *

**Never be free**

Mat lent on his _ashandarei_, his eyes narrowed against the wind that howled into Ebou Dar from the Sea of Storms. His scarf was being whipped back, but he had it tied tightly around his throat. His fingers drummed against the black wood of the haft, deliberately trying to look casual. Occasionally he let a slightly annoyed look cross his face, as if tired of waiting here.

The sun had nearly set over the large bay that separated the two parts of Ebou Dar. Mat could hear the water lapping gently, the path he was stood on was only a few feet from the edge of the bay. The harbour was full of ships, as usual.

He ran over the plan again in his mind. Everything was dangerous and full of risk. He couldn't predict what would happen, he couldn't be sure that the_ gholam_ would take the bait. Mat didn't want this to turn into a bloodbath like what had happened in the Rahad, when the _gholam_ had first confronted him. If it weren't for the medallion he would have died that day.

He looked to his sides. No one was about. Good, that was what he wanted. No one around to get hurt, save the Band and Aes Sedai of course. Light he hoped this would go as planned…

"_I am ordered to avoid notice, save by those I harvest, so you will live a little longer. A little longer."_ It had spat at him in that dark alleyway, after Noal had interrupted its second attempt to kill him. Mat fully intended to use those orders to advantage. He had made sure this was the first time he had been alone since he and Egwene had first hatched up this plan.

"_I'm only going through with this because not acting will cost more lives,"_ Egwene, now the Amyrlin with the whole of the White Tower under her command, had told him grimly. _"This _gholam _has to be stopped."_ Mat had nodded to her, while mentally running over the odds of surviving. And so, Mat had been given five Sisters and their Warders to work with, and he had the Band of the Red Hand, of course.

Mat hoped that now he was seemingly alone the _gholam_ would attack, this being its first opportunity for several weeks, and that it hadn't caught onto what was planned. He knew through Birgitte's knowledge of _gholam_ that it could sense channelers. Mat also hoped the Aes Sedai weren't close enough for it to smell a rat, and that it would not discover the Warders and small group of the Band that were close by.

He could hear dull noise coming from the building he had his back to. It sounded like an argument. Mat was glad of the buildings at his back; it meant any attack, if there was to be one, would have to come from his sides or above. The harbour also, despite its smell, was useful.

He stamped his feet, beginning to get cold. He had stood here for what felt like hours, although it couldn't have been more than half. Bloody shadowspawn. It wasn't going to come. It should have by now. He drummed his fingers again.

"Blood and ashes." He cursed. Maybe it wasn't following him anymore. No, it must be. The killing still went where he did. Random innocent people slaughtered because he wasn't yet dead.

' "_You are more important than them, Mat. Don't do anything that will get you killed. I need you. Stay away from it." '_ Rand had written to him when Mat had sent a letter, telling his old friend his concerns. But the _gholam_ was ordered to kill others, and Mat had made a promise to look after Elayne. He couldn't let this continue. It had to be stopped.

Maybe it was away somewhere else, ripping the head off someone. Mat felt a pang of guilt. He had brought this upon Ebou Dar again, just by being here. He picked up his _ashandarei_ and eyed up the dark, muddy path. Still deserted. He had stood here long enough, it was time to go. He started walking, trying to regain some feeling in his cold toes. Perhaps it had realised the trap, it seemed to be intelligent from the little he had interacted with it.

"Burn it," he muttered as he felt his plans disintegrate with every step. "Bloody shad-"

Suddenly he was hit hard in the back by something and he was knocked forward off his feet. He tumbled to the ground, his _ashandarei _flung away from his grasp, and his head thumped painfully on the mud. His hat fell off. He felt something on him, gripping hold of his coat, and it was then he realised that the _gholam_ was not away ripping off someone's head after all. He twisted under it and suddenly came face to face with it. It had an unpleasantly calm expression. Mat kicked desperately and slid backward. The _gholam _was fast, and it lunged forward to grab hold of his scarf. With a fierce yank it pulled both ends of the scarf tight around his throat. Too tight. It was choking him. Mat tried to breathe but he couldn't, his mind flashed back to Rhuidean and he panicked. He lashed out his boot in a vicious kick to its face. The _gholam's_ head snapped back. Mat kicked again, forcing it backward. Its grip didn't loosen, and the scarf only got tighter. Mat scrabbled his hands to his neck, trying to get the fabric to ease a little. The _gholam_ immediately reacted, a faint look of…fear on its face. It let go of one of the scarf ends and grabbed his hands. This did little to ease the strangling, the scarf as tight and twisted as it now was. Mat realised it thought he was going for the silver medallion around his neck. Mat went for the medallion and it held him tight. Then, with a snarl, it let go of the scarf with the other hand and grabbed hold of the leather cord the medallion hung on. It snapped it off his neck and flung it, hard, into the harbour.

A smile came to its scarred face and it released his hands. Mat ripped the scarf off and breathed in with a desperate rush of air. Panting he looked up at the _gholam_, who was now still, making no attempt to kill him. Their eyes met. Its smile of victory was clear.

"Only a little longer you would live," It said softly. Mat stared at it with wide eyes, his hand slowly snaking into the pocket of his green coat. "It is over."

They looked at each other a moment, then with a snarl Mat pulled the real foxhead medallion out of his coat and pressed it hard against its throat. The _gholam_ screamed in agony as its skin sizzled and kicked itself backward away from the unexpected attack. Still gripping the leather cord Mat hurled himself up. He could hear running feet coming toward them. The _gholam_ had its hands to its throat, the pain clear on its face. It frowned in confusion and looked up at him. Mat whirled the real medallion.

"A copy." Mat spat at it. "A good one, but a copy."

The _gholam's_ face went expressionless again and it whipped to its feet with a fluid movement, hands ready at its sides, body coiled. Mat could see the livid red burn on its throat.

"HOLD IT!" A voice cried out and both Mat and the _gholam_ looked up. The soldiers, Warders and Aes Sedai were around them, blocking off the exits the buildings and harbour did not. The Warders carried swords, the soldiers a mixture of swords and bows. Mat looked back at it. It hesitated, no longer sure what to do. He could almost see the options ticking through its mind. If it attacked Mat, they would attack it, leaving it open to the medallion. If it attacked them, Mat would get it while distracted. Exits were blocked. If it slaughtered its way through them then Mat could attack while it was slowed by the killing. Its head went from one side to the other.

"Give up, Shadowspawn. You can't get away." Mat panted out, his breath almost gone. It met his eyes again and it paused. The hesitant look left its face and before Mat had time to register the look of determination it sprang at him as fast as it could. Mat was hit by the full force of it as it collided into him; he felt it grip hold of him, their legs twisting up. They flew backward with the shear force of the blow and the ground went out from under him. The _gholam_ had thrown them both over the side of the harbour.

They fell the few feet down to the water and hit it hard, water exploded up from the surface. Mat gasped at the icy coldness that suddenly surrounded him, all air gone for the second time that evening. They were face to face. Mat could just make out hazel eyes as they sank into the dark. The _gholam_ gripped hold of his hands, keeping them down, the medallion entwined in his fingers. It was drowning him. Bloody inventive creature. He hadn't thought of this.

Mat kicked desperately, trying to get back to the surface. It slowed the decent, but not by much. The _gholam_ was dead weight, dragging him down and not letting him use his hands. Mat's mouth opened as he desperately tried to breathe. All it did was to fill him with cold salty water. It was watching him, a slight smile on its face, watching him struggle vainly. Mat stared at it back. This was it then. He was going to die drowned by a _gholam_. Could _gholam_ die by drowning? He didn't know.

'_Where's my bloody luck?'_ He thought, his vision getting darker. Whether from depth or death he didn't know. _'Sorry, Rand.'_ Rand had warned him not to go near the _gholam_, and what had he done? Exactly the opposite. Ridiculously he found himself grinning at the _gholam_, in defeat maybe. He wasn't sure anymore. It smiled back.

Suddenly Mat felt an impact in the water and the _gholam_ jolted forward. Its mouth opened in surprise. Something stabbed him in the stomach that was painful enough to make him yelp silently. He looked down. There was a metal…spike of some kind jutting out from the _gholam's_ stomach, the point of it digging into Mat's.

He realised vaguely that they were being hurled upwards, but how, he didn't know. It was struggling madly. It let go of him with one hand, the other scratching at the metal spike. Mat's eyes travelled upwards. There was a rope that seemed to be coming from its back.

Their heads broke water and Mat instinctively gasped for air. The _gholam_ was thrashing, its body contorting unnaturally, and its other hand released him. Mat tread water as it was hurled away from him. He clicked then what had happened.

It was an arrow that had been fired through its back and out of its stomach. A big arrow with a vicious barbed and tapered metal point, but an arrow all the same. A rope was tied to the end of its thick haft, allowing the soldiers to pull the _gholam_ where they wanted. The _gholam_ was now, in affect, collared and leached. Unless of course it got the arrow out.

With that thought in mind, Mat began to swim to the wall. A red staining came to the water and he frowned. Where…?

He was bleeding. The head of the arrow had pierced him. Mat grit his teeth and continued to swim until he reached the wall. The _gholam_ was still struggling, snarling as it did so. Strong hands grasped them both and pulled them out the water. He was put gently down on the muddy path; blood stained his white shirt. Mat knelt on the path, coughing and spluttering up water. His lungs were screaming with pain. Away to his right he could hear the _gholam_ thrashing about and the shouted orders of Warders as the men struggled to keep it under control. Mat sat on his backside and looked across. Five men were holding the thick rope jutting out of its back. The _gholam_ had its hands to its stomach trying to yank the arrow out of itself. The arrow didn't budge. It had to be barbed to be held so fast. The barbs would dig into any flesh, even the bloodless type.

Mat pulled himself to his feet, a warm trickle of blood leaking from his wound. Something tapped against his leg and looked down. The foxhead medallion was hanging from his fingers. He realised he must have kept hold of it all this time, even while drowning.

The _gholam_, maybe working out that it couldn't get the arrow out of itself, whipped around to face the men that held its rope. They were yanked forward by the pull but managed to hold on. It snarled at them and lunged forward. Mat forced his weary body and even wearier legs to move, and he began to close the distance between himself and the _gholam_, gripping the medallion.

The _gholam_ grasped hold of the man closest to it, a Warder of one of the Aes Sedai, one hand holding his head the other his coat. The men were yanking on the rope but it was too close to do much good. With a smile it pulled the head up and coat down. Mat heard himself and the others cry out in horror as it ripped off the Warder's head at the neck. Blood exploded everywhere. It dropped the head and released the body; the dead man fell to the ground with a thump. Somewhere to Mat's side an Aes Sedai screamed.

It turned its gaze to the next man on the rope. Mat recognised him as one of the Band and his stomach turned. The soldier panicked and released the rope, drawing his sword. The _gholam_ grabbed his head as he rammed his sword into its chest, hilt deep. It did not react. Everything was happening too quickly. Mat forced his legs to move faster. With a snap the _gholam_ broke the soldier's neck and let the lifeless body drop to the mud. It grasped out its hand to take hold of the throat of the next man just as Mat reached it from behind. He did the only thing he could think of and took a handful of its hair in his free hand, yanking its head back. With the other he rammed his fingers holding the medallion into its mouth. The foxhead was not touching its flesh, but all that was needed was small movement to burn the inside of its mouth.

The _gholam_ went completely still. Bent back as it was, Mat could see its eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Let him go," Mat hissed in its ear. "Or I'll push this down your throat."

It didn't move. "Believe me, shadowspawn. You won't have time to even stretch before this is burning you from the inside."

Slowly the _gholam_ released its grip on the soldier's throat and lowered its hand to its side. The man gasped for breath then promptly fainted.

The Aes Sedai came forward gingerly, save the one who's Warder had been killed. She was sobbing against the building.

"What do we do with it now?" One of them asked, staring at the two of them, lip curled. "Surely you can just kill it now."

The _gholam_ flinched. Mat considered the options. It was either do as planned and get the thing into the iron box they had brought for this task then take it to the White Tower, or kill it now while he had the chance. If it was dead, it would cause him no more trouble, and no others would have to die.

"_If you can kill it with that medallion of yours, do so."_ Egwene had said to him. _"I don't want it in the White Tower unless absolutely necessary."_

It was staring at him. In its face Mat could tell it knew he was deciding its fate. The _gholam_ made a low garbled sound, as if trying to speak. Mat lent forward.

"What?"

"Don't kill me." It whispered. The words were distorted, but clear enough.

Mat blinked. He wondered, not for the first time, how _gholam_ had come to be. Surely something like this couldn't be breed, but created? It was important to know these things. Perhaps it would be best to take the _gholam_ back to the White Tower and question it. Maybe they would find out some vital piece of information. If he killed it now, that information was lost. He looked up briefly at the Aes Sedai.

"No. It goes to Tar Valon; we could learn something from it. We stick by the plan. Get the box." As he spoke Mat wondered if he was making up excuses not to kill it. The Aes Sedai nodded and called soldiers to get the box.

Mat ran through the plan in his head. Seal the _gholam_ in the iron box, cart it to Tar Valon and then into the dungeons of the White Tower, where a cell was waiting. It would work, it had to.

The _gholam's_ face was set in its neutral expression again, despite its mouth being forced open. It would be compliant enough to get in the box; the threat of the medallion down its throat would keep it at bay.  
The problem would come at the White Tower.

* * *

Mat watched as the iron box was pushed to the doorway of the cell over wooden runners. The bloody thing was too wide to go through, although he was relieved that a good job had been done on the cell, with its strong walls and door. Lila Sedai turned to him with a sigh.

"Now what? It won't get through the door."

Mat rubbed his chin as he thought. He didn't trust the _gholam_ to get out quietly and just wait to have the final wall of its cell bricked up while it waited. In fact, to even consider that option was madness.

"Burn it..." Mat snatched the medallion from around his neck, dropped his _ashandarei_ and hopped up onto the box.

"What are you doing?" Lila asked, stepping forward. In reply Mat stamped his boot down on the iron. "What are you doing!"

"I'm getting it out of the box." He banged again. "Can you hear me, shadowspawn?" He bent down and shouted at the metal, then put his ear to it.

"Yes." Came the dulled reply.

"You're going to be let out of there. But even think of trying to kill or attack anyone and you'll burn. Understand?"

"Yes."

Mat nodded to Lila and held his hands out for the keys. She arched an eyebrow.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Mat Cauthon. If that thing gets loose here…" She left the sentence unfinished and handed the keys over. He smiled at her in a confident way that was utterly unconvincing, and jumped off the box so he was inside the cell. He took a deep breath and began to unlock the six locks, the medallion dangled from his hand. With a heave he yanked open the hinged door of the box, slowly the inside of it was revealed. The _gholam_ was at the other end of the box, a hand up to shield its eyes from even the dim candlelight. It hadn't seen light since it had first gone in, which was three weeks ago.

"I want you to get out and go over to the wall opposite, at the end of the cell. Step over the bricks." A foot high wall was built halfway across the room, in preparation for the _gholam's_ arrival. It moved slowly, but still with its natural fluid movement. Mat backed away to the side, watching it closely. Silently it emerged from the box, the arrow still jutting horribly from its body, the rope trailing behind. It stepped over the wall then turned to face him, eyes locked together. The burn on its throat had healed over, and the scar was just visible under the collar of its grey coat. As it walked back Mat walked forward. "Up against the wall." Mat told it. It went back another step and its back hit the wall. Mat motioned to the men behind him and he heard the box being moved again. Careful not to trip, Mat stepped over the wall too and bent down, keeping his eyes on the _gholam_. He picked up the trailing rope and moved over to an iron ring embedding in the wall a few feet to the side of it. He tied the rope to it with a knot he had learnt from one of the men in the Band. It would now not be able to reach the half built wall without it untying the knot. Mat retreated backward as a small group of men entered with bricks and mortar.

Mat stood to the side and watched as they built the wall up, a thin hatch was incorporated into it, along with a small window with wire mesh that was embedded into the brick deeply. The _gholam_ was slowly hidden from view. Mat turned to Lila, who was stood next to him, arms folded. "The rope means it can't reach the bricks, but it could untie it." He spoke quietly. "So I'll stay here until it can't get out by knocking down the wet wall. If it does get it into its mind to escape…well, I'll deal with it. Get everyone else to leave and lock the door behind you."

She paused, then nodded.

* * *

Mat blinked blearily. He had been outside the cell for almost a full night and day now and was almost dropping. With a sigh he pushed himself up from the stool and peered in through the window, holding up a candle to the mesh. Inside, the rope lay untied from the iron ring. The _gholam_ was sitting against the wall, digging its fingers into the arrow, trying to get it out. It was making a low noise that sounded utterly miserable. It would get it out eventually of course, but now it didn't matter. It was trapped. It wouldn't be ripping off heads anytime soon.

Mat stumbled over to the door and knocked on it.

"Let me out now."

The door opened slowly and an Aes Sedai popped her head in, she smiled at him in a jolly way.

"All safe?" She asked.

"I think so. Just be careful, the weak point is the wire. But right now it's only worried about getting that arrow out of itself." He stifled a yawn. "I need rest. I'll be back to check up on it in a few weeks."

She nodded. Mat slipped out of the door, leaning heavily on his _ashandarei._ If this set-up failed, they were all in bad, bad trouble.

As he climbed up the stairs that lead to the dungeon doors he found himself wondering why in the light he hadn't killed it when he had the chance.

* * *

**Please review! I thrive on feedback. :P**


	2. The gholam

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

* * *

Matrim Cauthon stood outside the heavy metal door, one hand held his _ashandarei_ and the other fingered the leather cord that hung from his neck. He flicked his brown eyes over the door and wall, his teeth nibbling slightly on the inside of his mouth. The walls looked strong, strong enough, anyway. The door fitted tight to the wall. Not quite airtight, but close to it. From what Mat had heard this set up was working. He touched his silver foxhead medallion. His skin had warmed the metal, but he was constantly on edge, expecting it to go cold.

Mat hated being here, being surrounded by Aes Sedai. The White Tower was one of the last places he wanted to be, save the Pit of Doom itself. Perhaps.But he had his trusted _ter'angreal_ that had saved him many a time now. He could almost forgive the 'finn for trying to hang him because they had given him the medallion. He flinched internally and unconsciously pulled the black silk scarf tighter to his throat, hiding the twisted scar that marked his skin. Maybe he couldn't forgive them after all.

The sound of footsteps made him start. He whipped around to see a tall, willowy Aes Sedai approaching, a blue stole around her shoulders. If she hadn't have been a Sister Mat would have given her a smile and a wink.

"Mat Cauthon?" She asked as she reached him. Mat blinked. Light, she was nearly as tall as him!

"That's me." He lent on the _ashandarei_ with a casualness he didn't feel and tipped his hat up slightly to see her better.

"I'm Maritel Sedai." She nodded her head toward the door. "You want to go in, then?" She asked.

"That's why I'm here." Mat didn't smile.

"You do know what's in -"

"I know." Mat cut her off. "I put it there."

Maritel went a little red.

"I didn't know."

"It's alright." Mat finally forced a smile. "Will you let me in now?"

She nodded and pulled two keys from a pocket in her skirts. "The door has only two locks?" Mat tried to keep his voice from betraying the panic he suddenly felt. She shook her head, and slid a key into the door. Mat watched in silence as she unlocked both locks, and then rapped on the door in a two-three-two sequence. The sound of the door being unlocked from the other side travelled through the metal.

"It's a two way system. The door can't be unlocked from just one side."

Mat nodded then frowned.

"How do the women inside get out if there's no one here. Say if they need to escape?"

Maritel didn't answer; she just looked at him with blue eyes. Mat's mouth opened slightly in realisation. Before he had time to reply the door slid open on heavily oiled hinges, and the faces of two curious Aes Sedai peered out at him. Mat recognised them vaguely.

"Mat Cauthon. To see _it_." Maritel told them from behind him. They nodded and stepped aside to let him in. Mat went through. "I'll be outside." Maritel told him before she closed the door with a soft thud.

Mat breathed in and looked about. The small room had no windows to the outside and was lit by several candles. Mat opened his eyes wide trying to see as best he could. They fell on a small window of extremely fine wire. It was about the size of a human head. He knew the wire was deeply imbedded in the stone of the wall. Mat couldn't see anything on the other side, although he knew that another room was behind it. Below that was what looked like a long, thin metal hatch with five locks on it. Mat understood the caution. He understood better than anyone, he thought, as his fingers strayed again to his medallion.

He turned to the two Aes Sedai, and forced a winning grin on his face.

"Do you mind leaving me to talk with it on my own?"

They looked at each other.

"The Amyrlin's orders -"

"The Amyrlin is a childhood friend of mine. And besides, she won't find out. It is down to me this thing is locked up." Mat smiled and shrugged. "Give a man some slack?"

The slightly shorter one smiled back. Mat dimly remembered she was a green. She nudged her Sister.

"Come on. It won't get out anyway."

The other looked hesitant but eventually shrugged.

"Alright." She looked up at Mat. "Knock the sequence when you wish to get out."

"Thank you."

The green handed him the keys to the inside of the door, and he watched as they retreated out and pulled it shut behind them. His smile slipped of his face as he lent forward to lock it again, hearing one of them doing the same thing on the other side.

Mat put the keys down on a small table by two stools and lent his _ashandarei_ in a corner. With a glance at the dark window he picked up one of the stools and placed it by the wire. He sat down cautiously and peered in. Still he could see nothing. He leaned over and picked up a candleholder with five candles burning steadily on it.

Slowly he held it up to the wire and looked in.

On the other side was small cell with only a stool in it for furniture. Mat could just make out the shape of a man sat on the floor, lent against the wall. The head was bent down. Mat frowned to himself, not knowing if it slept.

"Oi, are you awake?" Mat asked in a raised voice.

No response.

Mat rubbed his chin with his free hand. "Can you hear me, shadowspawn?"

Slowly, the _gholam_ raised its head. Mat's heartbeat quickened slightly. It was too dark to make out its face, but Mat could feel its eyes on him. "I came to talk to you." There was silence. "Come on, I know you can speak." Mat sighed.

"Your hat is on fire." The soft, quiet voice said from the darkness.

"What...? Oh!" Mat suddenly smelt the burning. He had held the candles too close to his broad-rimmed hat. He ripped off the hat and stamped on the small flames on the edge of the brim. "Blood and ashes!" He cursed, picking it up and throwing it down on the table. Damn candles. He turned back to the window and almost let out a cry of shock. The _gholam_ was suddenly right by the wire, hazel eyes locked on Mat's face. He hadn't heard it move. It smiled then, smiled at his reaction. Mat wondered whether it could hear his heartbeat.

It looked only a little older than Mat, with scruffy brown hair. Mat blinked when he saw the scars, the scars he had given it. One large scar where the medallion had fallen on its cheek, burning it like a hot frying pan sizzled bacon. On the other cheek was a thin scar, where he had caught it across the face while whirling his medallion for protection in Ebou Dar. Mat frowned at it. He didn't like the fact it had got the better of him this early in the game.

"Want something?" He asked irritably.

The smile faded and it cocked its head, as if considering.

"Yes." It replied.

"What do you want?" Mat shifted on the stool, his backside already becoming numb.

"I want...many things."

"Tell me. Tell me what a _gholam_ wants in life. Apart from to kill channelers." Mat said wryly.

It nodded.

"Yes, channelers. There are many channelers here. Many many." It rubbed its arms as if cold. Mat noticed it was wearing the same grey coat from their previous encounters. Its eyes fixed on him again. "I am in the place with the women channelers. The..." It appeared to think. "...White Tower." Mat didn't reply. It didn't seem to mind. "I want food."

"You eat?" Mat asked surprised. "I assumed you didn't."

The smile returned.

"I do not eat. I drink."

"Well, if you want some water I'm sure the -"

"No." It interrupted him. "Not water. Blood."

Mat curled his lip.

"Light...you need that or do you just like it? What type of blood? Bloody shadowspawn..."

"I need it. And any. If it's fresh."

"I'll let the bloody Aes Sedai know. How long can you go without?"

"I do not know."

Mat sighed and made a mental note to tell the Sisters. "I want to be out of this cell." It suddenly snarled at him, its hands gripping the wall by the wire. "I want to be free."

"So you can try to kill me and my friends?" Mat snorted. "Not likely."

"You and the women."

"You're not getting out!" Mat's voiced raised. "You're never getting out! The Aes Sedai are going to study you until they learn something useful then you'll be starved to death!" Mat's lip was curled, his face full of aggression. "If you damn things _can_ die."

Its hands dropped. Mat caught a quick glimpse of the thin scars made by his medallion on them before they fell out of sight.

"I want to be free." It repeated, its voice back to its usual calm quietness. Mat put his face close to the wire.

"You tore out my friend's throat, you ripped off Queen Tylin's head, you've been on a killing spree in Ebou Dar," Mat's teeth bared. "You tried to kill Elayne, you tried to kill me. You're a monster. You will _never_ be free again."

The _gholam_ looked back at him with its deceptively soft hazel eyes.

"I want to know your name." It replied.

Mat blinked, suddenly thrown off course.

"What? Why? Don't you know it?"

"No. He did not tell me if he knew. I know the names of the women. Not you." It relaxed on the stool; its slender body was similar to Mat's wiry build. "What is it?"

Mat considered this strange request.

"I'll tell you," Mat said. "If you tell me your name. Fair exchange."

It cocked its head again.

"I do not have one, I am a _gholam_. That is all."

"But other shadowspawn have names. Trollocs, myrddraal."

"_Gholam_ are not like them."

Mat threw his free hand in the air in exasperation.

"Well, what did they call you? Surely it wasn't just 'hey you'?"

It looked at him without replying. Mat quickly became uncomfortable. "Well?"

"What is your name?" It repeated softly, ignoring the question.

Mat considered. What harm could it do? The thing was locked up.

"Mat."

"Mat..." It repeated under its breath. The sound of it speaking his name made his skin erupt in goose bumps. The _gholam_ smiled again. "He wants you dead."

Mat leaned forward slightly.

"Who wants me dead?"

"The Chosen." The _gholam's_ face returned to a neutral expression. Mat decided it was insane. Then he remembered that it wasn't human.

"The who?"

"The Chosen." It repeated. "The Forsaken."

"Oh. Yes. I know." Mat nodded impatiently. "But which of the Forsaken? Which one ordered you to kill me?"

The _gholam_ frowned to itself, its eyes sliding away from Mat to narrow in concentration.

"I...I do not remember." It said quietly.

"You don't remember who ordered you? But that was only -"

"No." It looked back at him and Mat almost flinched at the intensity in its gaze. "I remember who ordered me. I do not remember his name. I knew all the..." Its lips twisted in an expression of distaste. "...Great Master and Mistresses' names, but I knew their names in the time before. In the time of the war."

"In the Age of Legends? The War of Power?"

"Yes. I remember some from that time, but it is dim." It rubbed the large scar on its cheek in an absent way; as if not aware it was doing so. "There was much fighting, much killing. Many orders from the Chosen."

"The box..." Mat breathed. "The Stasis box must have affected your memory." He cringed. It was like what had happened with him, the dagger making holes in his memory.

"One moment I was there. Then I was here. Much is different here." A pained expression came to its face. "I am hungry. Very hungry."

Mat sighed, thinking what to do. The _gholam_ was a prisoner, and prisoners depended on their gaolers to keep them fed.

"I'll be back." Mat told it and stood up. He could feel its eyes on his back as he walked over to the door.

Mat picked up the keys and unlocked it, then knocked the sequence on the metal. Immediately he heard it being unlocked for the other side. The door was pushed open and he stepped out of the way.

"Maritel Sedai?" Mat asked. She stepped forward.

"Yes, Mat Cauthon?" She cocked her eyebrows quizzically.

"Would you please fetch me some blood?"

"Blood? Why?"

"It drinks blood, it needs it. Could you fetch me some fresh from the kitchens?"

"I'll get a Novice to do it quickly." She turned to walk off down the corridor.

"Maritel?" Mat called, she looked back at him. "Why bother with the knocking sequence when it can hear what to knock if it escaped?"

The three Aes Sedai looked at each other. Before they had time to reply Mat pushed the door shut. He took a deep breath and with a shake of the head he locked the door and sat back down.

The _gholam's_ hazel eyes followed his every move.


	3. Complications

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or related characters.**

**Sorry about the wait. Loads of things happened at once and everything got on top of me. But hopefully now I'll be able to keep new chapters rolling out more regularly. Darn real life. :P **

**Thanks very much to Zharradan, Iolo, Niani and Ersatz for reviewing. It's always great to know people are reading.

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"You'll have your blood." Mat told the_ gholam_. It smiled in its serene way that put Mat on edge, then lent back, stretching out its arms above its head. Although it did not stretch more than a human would Mat half expected it too, like the way it had slithered through the wall in Ebou Dar.

"You cannot channel." It said, moving back in toward the wire so fast Mat started back a little.

"No. No, I can't." Mat blinked at the rapidness of its movement. He could still not get used to just how fast it could make its body go.

"I have never been ordered to kill a non-channeler before." It cocked its head as if examining him.

"I'm flattered." Mat's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Why does he want you dead so much?" With snake-like, fluid motion it rested its elbow on its knee and leant its head on its hand. Mat almost laughed at the absurd casualness of its pose. The _gholam_ was never casual, he had learnt that much. There was always the threat of violence and destruction under the surface. It was a tool, a tool to kill, and that was all it was, despite the human looking body and clever skills at speech.

"Because I am what I am." He said shortly. He was not about to tell it more about himself. The _gholam_ tilted its head to one side and did not reply, apparently content with watching him. No wonder even the Forsaken were wary of the _gholam_. Mat rubbed his stomach where the arrow it had been caught with had pierced him. Yet another scar to add to his collection. Tylin had been fascinated with them. Tylin…

Mat shivered. He had left her there, tied up and helpless under the bed, incapable of even attempting to fight as it killed her. A snarl came to his face and he stared at the man-shaped killing tool. He should have killed it. He should have driven the medallion down its throat and watched it burn. Mat stared at the _gholam_ and felt nothing but raw hatred. It looked back impassively, then lowered its head. Its hands slid to its stomach. It began to fiddle with the cloth of its coat, where the fabric had been torn by the arrow. It was smoothing the ragged edges together, as if in an attempt to make the coat look like it wasn't ripped. It must have got the arrow out of itself at some point between now and the last time he had seen it, when it had been bricked up. Mat found himself hoping that the arrow had hurt it, hoping it had been in agony when the barbs were driven into its flesh. He remembered it sat on the floor of this cell, trying to get the arrow out. It had sounded in pain then, or at least miserable. Good. Bloody shadowspawn. It was a shame it had managed to get it out. All the pain and death it had caused over the years must be countless.

"I hate you." Mat muttered under his breath, and his grip tightened on the candlestick as he tried to control his anger. The _gholam_ blinked and its eyes rose up to look at him from under its brows. Its hands went still.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Mat spat at it viciously, lip curled. "Why_ what_?" He felt his anger rise even higher that the bloody thing had heard him.

"Why do you hate me?"

He stared at it. Was the bloody thing so stupid? Everything he had said, everything it had done to him and those he knew, and it still had to ask. He tried to keep in the urge to ram his _ashandarei_ through the wire mesh and into its skull at bay.

"I hate you because you're filthy murdering shadowspawn. And stop asking me bloody questions! From now on you answer me! No more games."

The _gholam's_ expression darkened. It put one hand to the wire, flexing its fingers as if to try and dig its nails into the metal. Its face was no more than a fingers width from the mesh that separated them.

"I take no orders from you." Its voice was still quiet, but the softness was gone. Every word was etched with anger and frustration.

"You bloody well will!" Mat leaned in, furious. Their faces were so close he could see his own eyes reflected back in its pupils. Could see the details of the foxhead medallion burned into its cheek.

"You cannot make me." It snarled.

"If you want to feed you'll answer everything I ask. Unless you want to starve."

The _gholam _blinked slowly and its face went calm again.

"And if I answer your questions, what then? If I answer everything you ask like an obedient prisoner, what will you do when I have nothing left to tell you? You will kill me. You will starve me until I die because I am of no more use. I am too dangerous to keep. I will die if I answer your questions or if I do not. So tell me, how can you make me answer?"

Mat stared at it and his fury faded. He had never heard it speak for so long in one go before.

The sequence of knocks on the door made Mat jump and the _gholam_ looked up with a lightning fast movement of its head. He got to his feet and unlocked the door. Maritel Sedai stood there holding a large glass jug of blood, a disgusted expression on her ageless face.

"Pig's blood." She told him, and held it out. Mat wrinkled his nose and took it from her.

"Thanks." He turned to go back in.

"Is it answering you?" She asked, and put a hand on his arm. He looked at her and sighed.

"It's complicated." He replied. She nodded and let him go, then shut the door for him. Mat set the jug down on the table and locked the door, then turned back to the _gholam_. "Your blood."

Its eyes flicked to the table, face neutral.

"The channeler said it is pig's blood." It stated.

"Yes, from the kitchens. You said any type would do." He brought it over to the wire. "This will have to do."

"That will not fit through the gap." It nodded its head to the small metal hatch at the bottom of the wall. Mat considered and scratched the back of his neck.

"Back off. Get away from this wall." He snapped. The _gholam_ smiled and stood up, then backed away slowly until its back hit the furthest wall. "You stay there, or you won't get fed. Understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

Mat bent down and put the blood on the floor, listening carefully for any sound of it moving, then unlocked and opened the hatch.

"I'm going to pour this stuff on the floor." He raised his voice slightly. The _gholam_ did not reply. Trying not to breathe in the stench of the blood Mat poured it slowly through the hatch. It flowed into a large, thick, dark puddle, the slight gradient of the floor meant most of it was inside the cell, not around Mat's boots. He slammed the hatch shut and locked it up. When he stood back up and looked in the _gholam_ had not moved. Its eyes were fixed on him, not the blood.

"I am to feed from the floor?" It had a strange tone in its voice.

"There's no other way. Next time I'll get it brought to you in a trey of some kind. You can move now." Mat refused to be apologetic. The bloody thing deserved no better. But still, he couldn't help feeling that this was demeaning, making it eat like a dog.

"I have fed like this before. Many times." It told him, then stepped forward and knelt down, going out of Mat's sight. Mat strained to see it through the mesh but the window was so small he was unable to. With a deep breath he lent against the brick and closed his eyes, taking the opportunity to relax for a few minutes. He could hear no sound from within the cell. A part of him was glad he couldn't see how it fed, but another horribly morbid part wanted to see. Curiosity killed the cat, he reminded himself. And time and time again this had proved true for him. The dagger, the doorway. It seemed curiosity killed that Mat as well. He shook his head at his own awful humour.

A scraping sound came from within the cell and Mat opened his eyes. He peered in through the wire.

"What was that?"

He received no reply. Muttering, he picked up the candlestick again and held it up. He still couldn't see the _gholam_. "What was that noise?" Silence greeted him. "Can you hear me…? _Gholam…_?"

Suddenly something exploded through the wire and a sharpened metal point stopped a hairs breadth from his right eye. Mat's stomach lurched.

The arrow. The bloody arrow. It had got it out of itself and had been keeping it. Why hadn't he remembered! Mat backed off, one hand went to his throat to grab the medallion. The _gholam's_ face came to the wire and it smiled at him, then ripped the arrow to one side, tearing the wire mesh. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of its mouth. It had been waiting for food. For strength to fight.

Mat snapped the medallion's leather cord as the _gholam_ pulled the arrow free and flung it over its shoulder. It thrust an arm through the hole in the mesh and began to stretch. Mat was stuck. If he dropped the candlestick the cell would be in total darkness, but he couldn't fight with just one hand holding the medallion. Making a snap decision Mat slammed the candlestick down on the table at the same time as the _gholam _slipped its whole body through the gap and landed neatly on its feet. Mat saw its eyes flick toward the door, looking for a crack it could escape through. But the Aes Sedai had done their job. Although it was not airtight, there was no crack big enough for it to get out. It looked back at Mat and he whirled the medallion. It needed the key to be free, the key that was conveniently in Mat's pocket.

"Burn you, shadowspawn." Mat cursed and stepped toward it. The _gholam_ darted to one side and snatched the _ashandarei_. Mat blinked. Now he was in trouble. It brought the _ashandarei's_ haft end up hard under his chin. Mat's head snapped back and his teeth clacked together. Pain burned through his neck and jaw and his eyesight reeled. He heard his _ashandarei_ fall to the floor and something grasped his wrist. He forced his neck back down. He was eye to eye with the _gholam_, their noses almost touching. It was holding his wrist in an iron grip, keeping the medallion away from itself. Its other hand whipped out and grabbed the cord, snapping it from Mat's fingers. Mat kicked out with his legs in an effort to trip it up, but its limbs were like rock and wouldn't move. It turned its head to look at the torn wire window, cocked back its arm and threw the medallion through the tear, into the bricked up cell. Mat gaped at the accuracy of its aim. It would make an excellent knife thrower.

It looked back at him and slipped its hand into his pocket. The pocket with the key in it. "No!" Mat panicked. It couldn't get free, not in the White Tower. He grabbed its arm and tried to pull it away. "Bloody goat kissing shadowspawn, no!" He entwined its fingers with his own to try and stop it being able to get a grip on the key. He felt it stretch its fingers and get hold of little piece of metal. He gripped harder, no longer caring if it snapped off his fingers. All he cared about was making sure the bloody thing didn't get free. With a yank it pulled its hand out and flicked the key out of Mat's, and its own reach. Perhaps it didn't want him swallowing it. Mat struggled against it but it held him fast. Their fingers still locked together, it grasped his other hand, and with a terribly strong grip it held both his hands behind his back.

Mat panted both with exhaustion and fear. His breath made strands of its dark hair wave back. The _gholam's_ free hand moved up to his face and Mat flinched. It held his chin and worked two fingers into his mouth, scissoring them to keep him from snapping his jaw shut.

It was going to tear off his jaw. It was going to tear him apart bit by bit. Mat stared into its eyes and saw his own petrified face reflected back. Slowly it blinked and it rubbed its thumb along his jaw line in a thoughtful, almost gentle way.

"I am ordered to kill you." It said quietly. Mat couldn't reply, it was pushing his tongue down. "You were foolish not to kill me by the water. I thought you were going to destroy me." The pressure of its hand increased and Mat screwed his eyes up, waiting for the pain. It didn't come. "You will live for now. We are equal."

Slowly Mat opened his eyes and stared at it disbelievingly. It looked back. He had spared it in Ebou Dar, it was sparing him now. Carefully, Mat nodded.

"Equal." He managed to splutter out.

It flung him to the ground hard, like a child with a rag doll. Mat's head hit the stone floor and the back of his head exploded with pain. The blackness took him and he dreamed. Dreamed of Aes Sedai ripped into pieces by a creature they could not fight.

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**Sorry it's not longer, but I wanted to end this chapter at this point. Please give me your opinions/comments/critisms. All will be gratefully received. Except flames, they're just funny.**

**Tbc…**


	4. Bloody madness

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

**Warnings: Violence and death. **

**Thank you very, very much to Niani, Dragondare and Iolo for the reviews! Dragondare and Iolo taking all that time to write so much was especially appreciated. Thanks guys.**

**Anyways, here's Chapter 4. Note the Warning –points upwards- nothing really bad, but just in case.**

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Mat's chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm, his face illuminated dimly by the candles on the rough wooden table. The wax was stubs now, nearing exhaustion, and the flames flickered. He was led on his back, green coat spread out around him, limbs twisted where he had been thrown. Slowly his eyelashes fluttered and his slightly agape mouth twitched. His head turned to one side. 

"Ugghh..."

Blearily he opened his eyes, his vision was slightly dazed. Immediately the headache hit him and he let out a moan. With groggy movements he pushed himself upright and put a hand to the back of his skull. It felt like it had been broken open. His fingers worked into his hair and another jolt of pain hit him as he touched the scalp. The skin had been split open, but mercifully his skull was intact. Mat looked at his fingers and flakes of dried blood clung to his skin. "Blood and bloody ashes..." The _gholam_ had almost broken his head. His stomach lurched. It could have done, if it had chosen. It could have killed him. He had been defenceless. No daggers, no _ashandarei_, no medallion...

The medallion.

Forcing his body to move, sending an extra spike through his head, he pulled himself to his feet. The room swam and he had to lean against the table to orientate himself. The cell. It had thrown the foxhead into the cell. Mat stumbled over to the brick wall, snatching up the candlestick. He held the dimming light up to the slashed wire and saw the silver shine from the floor. It was way over by the far wall, and he couldn't get into the cell. Mat cursed to himself and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes fell onto his _ashandarei_ and he sprung over to fetch it. Immediately he regretted moving so fast. Blinding pain struck him and he fell to his knees by the haft of his weapon, ears ringing. The candlestick fell to the floor and everything went black. Time seemed to stretch out torturously as he knelt there clutching his head, trying to make the pain stop. Ridiculously the image of Nynaeve came into his head, tugging her braid. Nynaeve. She was here. Like Egwene. Light.

He forced his hand away and grasped the _ashandarei_; the pain slowly began to subside. He had to get the medallion, pain or not. But now he couldn't see where anything was. With a course oath he used the _ashandarei_ to pull himself to his feet and stared blindly into the dark. Which way was the door? He stumbled forward and whacked his shins on the table. He let out a miserable moan. Yet more pain. He shuffled to one side away from the table and stepped forward slowly, reaching out for the door. His fingertips brushed brick. He had found a wall, at least. Gradually he inched along until he felt metal. The door was closed. His heart raced. What if it had locked him in here, and killed the Aes Sedai? He'd be trapped. Trapped in the dark until someone let him out. Or until he died.

Panicked, he grasped for the handle. He felt it cold on his skin. With deep nausea he pulled it down and yanked on the heavy door. It cracked open. Mat let out a breath he had been holding for far too long and closed his eyes briefly, trying to calm his churning stomach. His shins throbbed dully. "Alright _gholam_, lets see how long your merciful mood stretched..." he whispered to himself, and pulled the door wide. A dim light entered the room. The fallen candle stick lay on the floor, his hat and the jug that had held the blood sat on the table. Mat quickly picked up his slightly burnt hat and put it on his head. Perhaps it would hide the ugly wound and dried blood. Light, now was no time to be thinking how he looked. Cautiously he stepped out into the hall. A key lay on the floor by his boot, but apart from that the hallway was empty. He bent down and picked up the key. It was the one that locked the inside of the room, the one the _gholam_ had fought him for. It must have discarded it after getting out. He slipped the key into his pocket along with the other for the hatch, and straightened up. Where were all the bloody Aes Sedai? The _gholam_ did not hide its victims; if it had killed the bodies should be here. Mat shook his head. He needed the medallion, without that even if the bloody thing was still in the White Tower he couldn't do any good. He reached over and snatched a reed torch from the wall. It too was nearing going out, but he didn't need it long.

Mat moved as fast as he could without the pain in his head almost knocking him out again. By the wall to the cell he dropped to the floor and unlocked the hatch. He dropped the torch to the floor where it continued to burn, and saw the medallion shine back at him. Carefully he pushed his _ashandarei_ in through the hatch, trying to pull the foxhead toward him with the slightly curved blade. It skittered in front of the blade as he hooked the _ashandarei_ around it and inched the weapon back through the hatch. When it got close enough he stuck his hand through and grabbed it. He let out a relieved sigh.

Mat pulled himself to his feet and quickly knotted the leather cord again. He pulled it over his head out of habit, then reconsidered. He took it back off and wound the cord around his hand, holding the silver ready. In the other hand he grasped the _ashandarei_ so hard he could feel the grain of the smooth black wood under his fingers.

Mat moved in a loping jog, each fall of his feet sent a dull throb through his head, but it was bearable. He held the weapon out in front of him and the medallion ready at his side. He went quickly out of the room and down the corridor, to the door that led to the main area of the Tower's dungeons. The door was wide open. Mat blinked. No, the door was gone, the hinges ripped from the frame. He poked his head around the frame cautiously, to look into the wide hall with the cell doors on either side. One of the guards lay on the floor, face up, eyes staring blankly. Mat stepped through the doorway. At the far end of the hall a lamp shone from where it was sat on the guard's table. To his side the door was on the stone, the metal twisted and bent, as if a battering ram had hit it and ripped it from the wall. A hand poked out from under it, fingers limp and pale. Mat bent down and lifted the door with a grunt. The bloody thing was heavy. The Green Aes Sedai that had let him see the _gholam_ by himself was sprawled under it, one leg twisted in the wrong direction, a pool of blood under her head. Mat screwed his eyes up and grit his teeth. As much as he disliked Aes Sedai they did not deserve death for trying to keep themselves and others safe.

"I'm sorry, Aes Sedai." He whispered to her, and gently closed her eyes. He didn't know her name. He hefted the door off of her, to one side, and stood up. Slowly he stepped over to the guard and discovered his first observation that the man was led on his back was wrong. The man was on his front, but his head had been twisted around to look up at the ceiling. Cursing, Mat jogged down to the desk and snatched up the lamp, deciding he could drop it and use the medallion if needs be. The grilled iron door that opened to the main Tower was closed, but a key still hung from the lock. Mat pulled on it and the door swung in toward him. The passage way beyond was in darkness and Mat was glad of the lamp. Slowly he stepped down it, the light only reaching a little way in front of him. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.

Suddenly the light fell on a pair of boots. Mat pulled up short. He held the lamp higher and it illuminated the other guard, his own sword driven through his stomach. Mat moved to go around him and he carefully went past the fallen man's side.

Something grabbed his ankle.

Mat jumped and let out a stifled cry. He yanked his boot away and whipped around. The guard's outstretched hand clutched for him, and the man moaned. Mat bent down and dropped the _ashandarei_, grasping the man's hand.

"_Gholam_..." The guard choked out, face contorted in pain. "It- it got free."

Mat nodded.

"Yes. Yes it's free. What happened? Where are the others?"

"Dead. He's...dead. Aes...Sedai...dead. " He shuddered and laid still, his hold on Mat's hand loosened. Mat picked up the _ashandarei_ and stood slowly. Death and killing was all the _gholam_ brought, nothing more. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. If he caught it again, he was going to kill it.

He continued on down the passage, jaw set tight. The memory of the _gholam's _fingers in his mouth burned, his utter helplessness at being at its mercy, forced to submit to a creature that had tried to kill him. That had killed friends. His anger burned, driving him along, mixing with a fear that would not leave him.

Eventually he reached one of the servant's passages, which were lit. He began to jog again, trying to remember how to get out into the main hall. Up ahead he saw two fallen people. As he got closer he realised it was a Warder, still wearing his shifting cloak, and an Aes Sedai. Both had had their necks broken. The Warder was sprawled over the Aes Sedai, as if still trying to protect her in death. Mat carried onward. There was no point now stopping for those he couldn't help.

He weaved his way through the maze of corridors, and up a set of stairs. Trying to trust his own luck and judgement he went where instinct guided him. He did not meet anymore bodies, but he didn't meet anyone alive either. The White Tower was deserted. They must have all got out, he reasoned. The _gholam_ couldn't have killed them all. Light, he hoped so anyway.

To his amazement he suddenly jogged into the entrance hall. He had found it, but any sort of relief that he would have received from finding the way out was ruined by the fact that no one was here. With a growl of frustration he fell to a stop. Now what was he going to do? He had no idea what had happened or where anyone was.

"This is bloody madness!" He shouted into the empty hall, at no one in particular. He was angry at himself for being out for so long. By the amount the candles had burnt down he must have been out for at least three hours. "Burn you, shadowspawn!!" He threw his _ashandarei_ down in disgust and rubbed his eyes. He should have killed it. Blood and ashes, even the _gholam_ had said he was foolish!

"Matrim!!!"

Mat spun around on his heel. That had been a female voice. "Matrim Cauthon!" It came again.

"Who's that?" He shouted back, trying to work out where the voice had come from. He heard the sound of shoes running down the grand staircase that led to the next floor.

"It's me! I thought you were dead." Maritel Sedai bounded down the stairs toward him, clutching a lamp. "That it had killed you." Mat sighed with relief.

"Not yet. I thought I was alone in here." He called to her as she got closer. She shook her head and pulled up in front of him, smoothing her skirts.

"Well I'm here at least. As for anyone else...I'm not sure yet." She paused.

"What happened? Last I knew the bloody _gholam_ threw me to the floor."

"How did it get out?" She asked, the expression of desperation clear on her face.

"The arrow. It used to arrow to break through the wire."

Maritel hit her own forehead.

"How could we have been so stupid!?"

"We've all been stupid," Mat told her. "But me most of all. I knew the thing and still I underestimated it. I should have killed it in Ebou Dar. What's happened here, where is everyone? Where's the _gholam_?"

"We need to keep moving," Maritel tugged on his coat. "I'll tell you as we go upstairs." She started to walk. Mat picked up the _ashandarei_ and caught up with her.

"Upstairs?? Why upstairs?"

"When my sisters and I were stood outside the room we heard you shouting, but not what was said. The sound is muffled through that door. So when the knocks came I just thought it was you wishing to get away from it. I opened the door and there it was, looking at me. Before I could do anything it just threw me out of the way. The other three sisters ran. It was what we had decided to do if it ever got free." They started walking up the stairs. "It went after them. I was on the floor but I could see. They stopped to try and close the door on it, but weren't fast enough. It got its hands in and ripped it off the frame, shoved it away from itself." She paused. "Enoma was behind it. It hit her. She- she died. As I got up I heard one of the guards shouting at it to stop, the poor, stupid man. It killed him. It must have taken his keys because it opened the door and got into the Tower itself. I don't know where it went after that. I ran to here. The alarm had already been raised. The other guard was dead in the passage.

The other sisters were frightened. We were all in here like rabbits waiting for the wolf. Eventually we got outside and someone made a gateway, it was decided we better get away from it as soon as possible. No one knew where it had gone. As they started leaving someone shouted that the Amyrlin and the Keeper of the Chronicles was not here. After a panicked discussion it was decided that if a Sister would volunteer she could go back in to look. Although the general consensus was that the Amyrlin would have made a gateway. I volunteered and here I am. Fear makes people act ways they wouldn't normally, I understand their actions, selfish as they seem."

"Brave of you to do this." Mat told her seriously.

"It's my fault it's free." She replied quietly.

"As I said. It's no one person's fault. Have you found Egwene?"

Maritel blinked at the use of Egwene's first name, then shook her head.

"No. I've been working upwards. I don't want to miss her, or go further away from the door than I have to."

Mat didn't ask if she had run into the _gholam_. The answer was plain.

"We need to get up to her study. She won't be hanging around on other floors, I know her. She's either escaped or..." Mat left it unsaid. Maritel nodded to show her understanding. "Tell me the fastest route."

"Tell you?" She frowned. "I'm going to lead you."

"No. You can't defend yourself against it. I can, I have the medallion." He waved it, dangling from his hand, for emphasis. "You should get out."

"I'll not leave this task to man." She told him. "I'm going. And if the _gholam_ kills me it's my own fault. I caused this mess; I want to make sure the Amyrlin is alright." The guilt in her voice was clear. And the authority. Mat decided not to argue with her. It was best not to anger Aes Sedai.

"Then lead on." He replied simply. She picked up the pace. They moved quickly and Mat soon became lost in the maze of passage ways, hallways, stairs and rooms. But through the windows they passed the ground got further and further away. Mat realised his heart was hammering again, and he tried to calm. Chances were that the _gholam_ was no longer in the White Tower. It wanted freedom, and if he were it he would get out as soon as possible. As they reached a meeting of hallways Maritel paused then headed off down one to the right. Mat followed silently until they were confronted with closed set of tall double doors. "Through here?" He asked. She nodded. "I'll go first, just in case it's waiting."

Maritel reluctantly let him slip in front. He threw the doors open, grasping the medallion, ready for an attack. None came. Mat turned to look at her. "All safe."

They stepped into the room, side by side. Maritel raised the lamp. Mat would have found it pleasant if he were not so on edge, with its bright carpet and beautiful wooden chairs and tables. On the floor lay a woman, face down. Blood soaked into the carpet around her neck and head. Mat bent down carefully to look. He recognised her as Egwene's Keeper of the Chronicles. Her throat had been torn out. He shuddered and stood up. "She's dead."

"She's the Keeper." Maritel said flatly. She had a hand over her mouth, as if trying to keep in her emotions. Shaking, she raised her other hand to point at a door opposite them. "The Amyrlin's study is through there."

Mat felt sick. He didn't want to open that door. He didn't want to open it and see Egwene torn to pieces, or missing her head. He had seen enough death. He had already had a friend killed by the _gholam_. But he had no choice.

"_If I ever look like acting the hero again, you kick me_." He had told Thom what seemed like an age ago.

No choice but to act the hero this time, he thought, running his thumb along the edge of the silver foxhead. Slowly he walked over to the door, Maritel just behind him. Gently he put his ear to the door, but there was nothing but silence from inside. He gave one brief nod to Maritel and opened the door.

Mat froze and Maritel cried out.

Inside the lamps were lit, illuminating the study in a soft glow. In the centre of the room stood Egwene, brown eyes wide. The _gholam_ was behind her, one arm around her waist, holding her tight to itself. The fingers of its other hand pressed into her throat. Egwene let out a hopeless moan.

The _gholam_ smiled.

**End of chapter 4**

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...**dun dun dun... **

**:P Ignore me, I'm mad.**

**All reviews will be appreciated, critisms and all. It all feeds the creative fire, and helps me improve my writing.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Orders

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

**Thanks again to Dragonodare and Iolo for their lovely long reviews! They really do help me out, so thank you muchly. Anyways, off we go...**

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"Get out! Run!" Egwene hissed. In the second it took her to speak Mat saw fear then anger flash across her face. "GO!" 

Mat brought the _ashandarei_ up in a fast, fluid movement, its point a fingers width from the _gholam's _right eye. It stood near to head taller than Egwene.

"Let her go, you filthy flaming shadowspawn!"

The _gholam_ glanced at the weapon with an impassive, almost slightly amused expression, then flicked its hazel eyes back to Mat. It ignored Maritel.

"No."

Egwene reached out toward him desperately, and its grip on her tightened.

"Mat, please! Get away from here!"

"Let her go!!!"

"I do not follow your orders." It replied cooly.

"MATRIM!" Egwene almost screamed in desperation.

Maritel suddenly stepped next to him and raised her hand. The air shuddered with something she had channelled. Egwene stumbled back into the _gholam's_ chest with a surprised cry . It didn't even flinch. Maritel looked shocked.

"Stop it!" Mat snapped, watching as Egwene regained her footing. "It won't work."

"The weaves just flowed around."Maritel whispered. The _gholam_ tilted its head to one side.

"Your channelers are ignorant."

"Let her go." Mat growled. "Let her go or I'll burn you into bloody ash." He gripped the medallion and held it up, into the _gholam's_ eye line. It smiled. A distinctly sly, knowing smile that Mat did not like one bit.

"'The Amyrlin is a childhood friend of mine.'" It quoted softly. Mat mentally groaned. He had said that in the cell, in its hearing. "You will give the..." The _gholam_ looked at the medallion briefly, and the smile was replaced by a look of intense dislike "...silver thing to the woman."

"Or what?" Mat snarled back.

It blinked, as if surprised by the question.

"I will kill your friend."

Egwene closed her eyes, lips tight, fighting to keep calm with its fingers around her throat. Mat let out a short, humourless bark of laughter.

"So that you can kill me? Then you'll just kill them both for your own bloody pleasure. I don't expect your seemingly new-found honour will stretch that far."

Egwene opened her eyes and looked at him, confused.

"Give her the silver thing and I will let both channelers leave unharmed. I will not go after them." It reasoned.

"So you can kill me one-on-one once I'm weaponless?" Mat's lip curled. "No deal."

The _gholam _paused.

"Very well." Its fingers flexed, digging into Egwene's throat.

"STOP!!" Mat screamed and flew forward, dropping the _ashandarei_. He grasped the _gholam's _hand with his own, not trying to pull it off, but to stop the fingers tearing into her flesh. Egwene was panting, her hair soaked in sweat.

It gave him a searching look.

"Will you do as I say?" It asked softly.

"Yes, burn you, yes."

"Mat, you have to live." Egwene grit her teeth."You know it. You have to get out, Rand needs you. You can't do this." Her voice was flat and scarily free of emotion. Mat stood there stupidly, holding the _gholam's_ hand. He knew what she said was true, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't let her be killed. Maritel was behind him, silent and still. The _gholam_ said nothing, not trying to keep Egwene quiet either. Mat realised it was allowing him to decide for himself. He turned and slowly held the medallion out to Maritel. She stared at him. Egwene struggled against the _gholam's_ iron grip. "No!! No Mat, you can't!!"

"Take it." Mat told Maritel. She paused, arms at her sides. "Take it!" He thrust it out to her angrily. She shook her head.

"You need to live."

Mat turned back to the _gholam_, desperation clear on his face. It looked at him impassively, offering no reaction.

"Maritel Sedai is right, Mat." Egwene told him. Somehow she still managed to keep her coolness, despite being held to the chest of shadowspawn. "This is for the best." Mat stared at her set, determined face.

"Burn you, Egwene." He spun on his heels, cocked back his arm and threw the medallion as hard as he could. A throb of pain pounded in his head. The foxhead flew through the door into the adjacent room and landed with a thud on the colourful carpet, just past the body of the fallen Keeper. Maritel's eyes widened and Egwene moaned in anger and hopelessness.

"Mat, you stupid woolhead!"

He turned to face the _gholam_.

"Let them go. I've got rid of it, we had a deal." He growled, and ripped his hat off his head, suddenly feeling like a fool wearing it. The _gholam_ looked over at the medallion and smiled, then let go of Egwene's throat. It snaked its hand into the pocket of her dress. Egwene flinched. The _gholam_ pulled out a set of keys and shoved her away from itself. She stumbled forward and Mat caught her. She glared up at him with such fury in her eyes he could hardly bare to look at her. "You foolish, stupid man." She said through gritted teeth, hands clutching his arms in a death-like grip.

"Get out." The _gholam_ spoke.

"Run. Run with us." She whispered. Mat shook his head. He wouldn't reach the medallion in time, he knew that. It would kill all three of them before he could even pick the foxhead up. One way or another, he was a dead man now. "Mat..." Tears welled up in her brown eyes, tears she was trying so hard to control. Mat set his resolve and pushed her away from himself.

"Both of you get away from here. Travel." He hissed. Maritel took Egwene's arm.

"Amyrlin, we have to go."

"No! Mat, you have to -"

Mat pushed her again, harder this time. Egwene's hard expression fell and tears leaked out. "Mat, please..."

"Out!" Mat barked. Maritel pulled her and Egwene stepped back, spirit broken. Maritel kept pulling until they were through the doorway, Egwene held onto the other woman's arm, one hand held out to Mat, as if trying to bring him away with them.

"Close the door." The _gholam_ said quietly from behind. Weakly Mat reached out and took hold of the door, and she let out a strangled cry. The last thing he saw of Egwene before he shut it, closing himself in, was her face twisting with grief and the light shining off tears running down her cheeks. Slowly he turnedaround. It was watching closely. It raised its hand, the small set of keys hung from one finger. "Lock it."

Mat glared, hating everything about it, from its ripped grey coat to its messy hair, and took the keys. He had to try a couple before he found the right one. The door locked with a very final sounding _click_. He sighed and dropped the keys to the floor. Ignoring the _gholam_ he strode past it to Egwene's desk, feeling it watching his every move. It had nothing to fear from him now, he figured, he could move where he wished and it wouldn't be worried. He pushed himself up to sit on the desk, official documents and letters either side of him. The _gholam_ bent down and picked up the keys. "I was waiting for a long time." It told him as it stepped toward the large window. The view was beautiful. Mat could see the island far below, and the blue river with a speckle of ships and boats sailing the waters. He remembered vaguely that he and Rand had travelled on a ship what seemed like years ago, although his memories failed him as to what the name of the ship was, or where they were going exactly. He knew from Rand that they had departed at Whitebridge, but not from his own head. In its place he had memories of long-dead men. Bloody snaky people. The _gholam_ opened the window, and with a flick of its wrist tossed the keys into the air. Mat hoped no one would be standing where they hit the ground. It shut the window again and turned to look at him, lent against the wall, apparently content for the moment. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come." It told him. "So was she, I think." It smiled.

"You're a sneaky goat kisser." Mat replied shortly. It tilted its head again.

"You curse a lot." Its gaze moved away from him, to somewhere past his shoulder. "I remember..." It paused, as if struggling. "I remember one of the Chosen would curse a lot. Like you do. But in the other language, the one used in the war."

Mat glared.

"What are you going to do with me?" He asked. "Why go to all this trouble? Why not just kill me back in the cell?"

"To make us equal." It replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Since when did shadowspawn have honour? And why bother sparing me just to kill me a few hours later?" His voice was rising. "What do you bloody want with me?!"

Slowly it stepped toward him, closing the distance between them, and Mat felt himself leaning away from it. It stopped a mere step from his knees.

"I am ordered to kill you."

Mat stared up into its hazel eyes fiercely, trying not to blink.

"Then why don't you? Here I am, helpless."

It paused.

"I do not wish to yet."

"But," Mat forced his voice out. "Your orders. You have to obey."

That sly, all-too intelligent smile crept onto its face again and it lent forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. The foxhead burned into its cheek seemed to watch him.

"Yes. I have orders to kill you. But," Its voice lowered so much Mat had to strain to hear it. "He did not say _when_ to kill you." It looked distinctly pleased with itself.

"...What...?" Mat's brown eyes narrowed.

"He did not say I must kill you immediately. Or when to kill you by. I can harvest you when I choose."

Mat's stomach lurched. Everything he thought he knew about the _gholam_, everything he thought he could predict had already been thrown into turmoil by its act of mercy in the cell. Now, like the keys, it was totally out of the window. If it could manipulate its orders it really could chose when and where to kill him.

"And when do you think you will want to...harvest me?" He asked slowly, his voice croaky.

The smile slipped off its face and it straightened, gazing at Mat as it considered.

"I have not yet decided." It told him finally. "Not yet. Not for a while." It stepped around the desk to the bookshelf on the wall. There was one at either end of the desk. It turned its head, reading the spines. Mat sat there staring blankly at the opposite wall. A pretty painting of Emond's Field how he remembered it was hung there, where it could been seen easily from the desk. He was alive now because it had simply not yet chosen to take his life from him. His entire being was at the whim of thing with no morals and no sense of what he would consider right and wrong. He found himself wondering what soulless shadowspawn considered 'a while.'

The _gholam_ pulled out a book, inspecting its cover curiously. It ran its fingers over the leather.

"'_The travels of Jain Farstrider_.'" Itsaid quietly, reading the title stamped into the cover. Mat heard it open the book and turn pages. He twisted his neck to look at the bizarre sight of a _gholam_ reading a book. "What is this about?" It asked him, raising its head.

"A man who goes travelling." Mat spat at it. He had no wish to converse with this thing. "It's a children's book."

It returned its gaze to the printed pages.

"Why does a womanhave such books?"

"Why does a woman do anything?" Mat muttered to himself. "I'll be burned if I know."

The _gholam_ continued to study the book for a moment, then slid it back on the shelf with gentle care.

"Why did the man travel?"

Mat frowned. The flaming thing had a child-like curiosity.

"Because...I guess he wanted to see the world. I don't know." Mat struggled to explain. "Next time I see him I'll ask him." He added sarcastically and touched his fingers to the back of his head. He flinched with pain. Cursing, he slid off the desk and went over to Egwene's water jug. He dipped his fingers in and tried his best to clean the wound. His hair kept getting in the way.

"The two channelers are gone." The _gholam_ told him abruptly. "They went suddenly." Mat raised his eyes up while rubbing his head with water.

"How do you know that?"

"I can sense channelers a distance away. They did not fade out of my senses, they disappeared quickly. They must have opened a...gateway."

"Good." Mat muttered to himself. They were away from it now, and away from him, who seemed to draw the _gholam_ like a body drew flies. Mat dried his hands on his breeches. "They're safe now." He told it defiantly. The _gholam_ tilted its head.

"No one is ever safe." Itreplied quietly, then proceeded to open Egwene's desk drawers. Mat strode toward it, anger rising.

"What in the Light are you doing?? Leave her things alone!" He stopped a couple of steps from the desk. It was on the other side, rifling through the contents, ignoring him. "What are you looking for? Information to tell your _Masters_?"

The _gholam's_ head snapped up and it locked eyes with him, a slight snarl on its lips.

"You are lucky I wish for you to live," It said, soft voice underlain with menace. "Or I would tear both your arms from their sockets." It paused then went back to looking through the drawers. Mat let out the breath he had been holding and decided the jibe had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. The _gholam_ pulled out what looked to Mat like a little leather book from one of the drawers and opened it. It was a small sewing kit, the type made for travelling if you needed to mend a button or a tear from a thorn. The _gholam's_ fingers smoothed the rip in its coat as it examined the sewing kit, then flexed its arm around to feel the damage at the back, where the arrow had entered.

"That's what you were looking for? A sewing kit?" Mat asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"That coat's beyond repair. Just get a new one." He pointed at the gaping rip, the fabric hung down miserably. The _gholam_ sat down in Egwene's chair and took a needle and some grey thread from the kit.

"I like this coat." It replied and threaded the needle, then bit off what it needed. Mat shook his head. The bloody thing was mad, absolutely mad. He stood there, arms folded, to watch as his point was proven. It set the needle down and began to unbutton its coat from its slender torso. It wore no shirtsleeves, and Mat found himself momentarily surprised by its bare chest. He was so used to be being around soldiers now thathe found it strange when men were not covered in the scars of battle. Even when he looked at himself in the mirror he saw where he had been cut, slashed and generally knocked about. But of course the _gholam_ was no man, and it had its own unique scars. The one on its throat, where Mat had burned it in Ebou Dar was more obvious now. Before the coats collar had partly hidden it. The _gholam_ pulled the coat off and led it across its lap, and ever so carefully began to sew. Mat shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. It used tiny stitches, as good as any seamstress Mat had seen.

"Where in the Light did you learn to do that?" He asked, watching as it fixed a hanging off button. It stared off out of the window, that thoughtful expression on its face.

"I do not remember..." Amazingly it continued to sew, not even looking at what it was doing. "Much is gone." Its brow wrinkled as it struggled. "I remember...I remember the Great Master. He taught me the skill." Its eyes moved to Mat. "He taught me much of what I needed."

"Who did? What Great Master?" Mat couldn't help but step forward. This was the reason he had used to justify to the Aes Sedai, and to himself, why he had spared the _gholam's_ life.

"Aginor."

"Of course...he made the Trollocs. And the Draghkar and Darkhounds." In another time and place he would have found the idea of one of the Forsaken teaching sewing lessons funny. But not now. The _gholam_ didn't reply. It went back to its coat. "How were _you_ made? How did he make _gholam_?"

"You are curious."

"Will you tell me? Light knows I should learn something from you."

The _gholam_ was silent for a few moments, then turned its coat over to sew the back up.

"Why did you not try to destroy me?" It asked finally, slim fingers working the needle through the grey fabric. "You could have burnt me inside."

"You've got a lot of knowledge. I wanted to learn things from you. It was a means to an end. Will you answer the question?" Mat felt uncomfortable. Talking to the _gholam_ made him squirm inwardly.

"The Great Mastermade us. We are constructs. He wanted to make things that must obey the Chosen, like the Mryddraal." It explained shortly. Mat wondered if this was another of its exchanges, to make them equal. "I am compelled to obey them."

"Except you can twist the orders." Mat said, half wondering what Aginor would think if he knew one of his creations was sat talking to him. "Where are the other five _gholam_?"

"I do not know. Perhaps they are in boxes, still. Perhaps they are gone."

"Gone? Gone where?" Mat frowned. Light, the last thing he needed was five more _gholam_ descending on him.

"She called you Matrim." It commented, ignoring his question. Mat blinked in confusion.

"What? Yes, she did. What does that -"

"Mat is short for Matrim. What is the rest of your name?" It bit off the thread and replaced the needle. Mat had never seen anyone mend something that quickly. The speed and acturacy of the thing was breath taking. He frowned and crossed his arms.

"Cauthon."

"Matrim Cauthon." It repeated to itself quietly and got to its feet. Mat couldn't help but stare. Everything of it just looked so normal, so human. He could see the muscle flex under the skin, the bone in its elbow protrude as it picked up the coat, a tendon in its neck go taunt when it turned its head, the veins in its wrist. But none of it was real; it was one big trick to make a weapon look human. The skill that must have been needed to create such a creature was amazing. However Mat found himself wondering if Aginor, or the other Forsaken, had realised just how intelligent their weapon was. Or if they, like himself, had made the mistake of thinking it mindless. Perhaps they had worked it out. They stopped at six after all, and it was rumoured even they became scared of the dangers _gholam_ presented. Mat watched at it slid the coat back on and buttoned it up. He stared stupidly at its handiwork. The tiny, neat stitches weren't even visible. Mat would bet that if a seamstress could see what it had achieved she would turn green. It looked at him silently, a slightly curious expression on its face. Mat pulled his eyes away from its stomach.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Mat asked quietly, clenching his fists. The _gholam_ smiled pleasantly.

"No."

"Then...what now?" Mat didn't want to die, that he was certain of. But he hated this unsurely of when it would happen. At least in battle things moved so fast you hardly had chance to think. Without answering it moved over to the door and bent down. "What are you doing?" Mat stepped toward its back. It put one eye to the keyhole. "_Gholam_?" Mat felt slightly ridiculous calling it '_Gholam'_, but he had nothing else to work with. It made an annoyed sound and turned its head to look at him over its shoulder.

"You will not move from that spot unless I say." It told him. Mat had heard many a voice in his life. Heard many men with an angry one, or a hard one, or a loud one. All these had been used to command discipline. But it was the _gholam's_ soft, quiet,strangely gentle voice that now made him obey without question. It was almost funny. Almost. The _gholam_ slid under the door, hands first, and Mat watched in fascination and slight disgust as its whole body flattened to fit through the crack. As soon as it was fully through he wanted to bend down and look through the keyhole, to see what it was up to. But he didn't trust it not to be watching him from the other side, so he stood where he was, listening intently. A moment later he heard it step to the door on the other side.

"What are you doing?" He called out.

"Step back." It told him, reply muffled through the wood. Mat did so, and kept stepping back until the windowsill dug into his spine. He could just about hear a bird cawing from outside. It sounded unpleasantly like a raven. The door suddenly burst open and swung until it hit the wall with a _crack_ of wood against stone. Mat jumped. The doorframe hadripped off where the lock had been forced out. On the other side of the doorway the _gholam_ slowly lowered its leg. Mat tried to still his thumping heart as he stepped toward it.

"What do you think you're bloody doing?!" He exclaimed, stepping over his _ashandarei_. "Why did you do that?? I thought you wanted me locked in!"

The _gholam_ smiled its pleasant smile.

"I did. But now I have made sure the women took the silver thing with them, you may come out." It bent down and yanked its boot firmly onto its foot. "I thought they would do so."

Mat didn't understand. What now? Was it going to let him go? Was the whole aim of this just to get the medallion away from him, so it could hunt him without fear? Mat pushed hair out of his eyes. It stubbornly fell back right.

"So what now? Are you going to let me go?"

"I am going to let you leave this Tower." It replied as it straightened, that smile still in place. "We are leaving this city."

Whatever hopes Mat had had at its first statement sunk with the second, and his stomach churned.

"...we?"

The _gholam_ held him with its gaze.

"Yes, Matrim Cauthon. We are leaving. We must get off this island, and then we will be free. Free of the hold of this Tower."

"The bridges are bound to be guarded." Mat told it, his panic rose with every word it spoke. "There's no other way across the river."

"Then we will find a way." It replied.

"There is no other way!!"

"There is always another way." The _gholam_ turned and began walking fluidly away from him, through the colourful room, toward the hallway. Mat went after it, figuring if he didn't walk it would make him, one way or another. He stepped carefully over the dead Keeper.

"And once we're away from Tar Valon, away from here?" He asked, catching up with it and walking to its side. It peered curiously at the hallway, then glanced at him.

"We are going to travel."

"What?! Where? Why??"

"Anywhere. And because, Matrim Cauthon, I wish you to show me what freedom is like." It stopped, examining him closely. "And if you refuse to travel with me, I will kill you. Then I will harvest the women." It tilted its head, as if waiting for his refusal. Mat simply stared at it in dumbfounded disbelief. It smiled again, apparently satisfied by his silence, if not agreement, and continued to walk. Mat's jaw hung open. Madness. This was all bloody madness. Shadowspawn wanted him to show it how to live like a human. Madness. He was its enemy, he had hurt it. It had tried to kill him.   
This could not be happening.

"Why me?" He called out to it, and it turned. The dim light of the lamp of the wall shined off its eyes.

"You are the first to ever give me a feeling other than pleasure or monotony. You are the only one that has hurt me." Its fingers went up to stroke the foxhead shaped scar on its cheek. "And you are the only one who has shown me mercy. You will now show me other things." With that it went on along the hall. Mat shook his head. The flaming thing was insane, totally and utterly insane.   
And as Mat followed in the _gholam's_ wake, he wondered just what Rand was going to think when he discovered that his best friend and General had been kidnapped.

**End of chapter five.**

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**Poor Mat. :) I hope this chapter and the quick update made up for the previous one.**

**As always, any comments will be very much appreciated. –Nods head- **


	6. Hot spiced wine

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

**Right –cough- uhh, where were we? Ah yes. **

**Sorry for the wait. Blame my university (they're evil) and stupid stupid writers block. –kicks- But as you can see, I've come crawling back with a new chapter. If you want to see what I did to sort out my writers block, just go to my profile and check out the other insane piece of trash there.**

**Anyways, off we go. Mat and Gholam on another whirlwind adventure!**

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Slowly, careful not to make any noise, Mat poked his head around the corner of the wall. The bridge over the River Erinin that led to the mainland lay in front of him. Like the White Tower itself it was a beautiful and seemly delicate looking construction, and something flashed briefly in his memory. A bridge that looked like it was made of glass, spanning above him. He blinked and shook the memory away, unable to place it. The river flowed swiftly beneath, dark and turbulent, splitting the reflection of the silver moon. 

Four guards stood on the entrance to the bridge. They were all in armour, and had swords at their hips and, strangely, a spear. Two of them were speaking and glancing at the Tower where it stood past the houses behind them, looking high up at Egwene's study window. The other two were scanning the grounds themselves. Mat felt suddenly very exposed and pulled his head back a little. The last thing he wanted was to be seen. If he was recognised before they got out of the city he would die. Probably painfully and slowly.

There was no way across the bridge without going between them, and Mat would bet his manhood on all the other bridges being the same. The White Tower itself was empty, the guards were making sure no one suspicious entered Tar Valon, and watching for any who might leave. He reasoned that that was why they had a spear, in case the _gholam_ attacked, to try and keep it at a distance. The houses hadn't been evacuated but most people were staying indoors after the warning of Shadowspawn had been given.

"You have got to be joking." Mat whispered, and turned his head to look at the _gholam_ behind him. It was also on the lookout, its eyes scanning fluidly, body pressed close to the wall. Briefly it glanced at him.

"No. I am not joking."

Mat pulled back and slid closer to it, lowering his voice. "There is no way in the Creator's name we can get across that bridge!" He hissed. "There are four guards. Perhaps if you killed them quietly and…what??"

The _gholam_ was looking at him curiously, one eyebrow quirked. "What?? I'm not encouraging you, I'm just pointing out that there's no way off this island without being seen."

It blinked once, twice, then lent past Mat to look around the wall for itself. Its chest was pressed uncomfortably against his own, and Mat squirmed. It paused there for a few seconds then drew back. "What now?" Mat asked, sarcasm dripping. "What's your next highly successful plan?"

It lent against the wall, brow furrowed.

"You are sure there is no other way from this island?"

Mat nodded, then realised it wasn't looking at him.

"I'm sure. It's the bridges and that's it. There's not even an Aes Sedai you can bully into making a gateway. They all seem to have Travelled away from _you_." For that he was extremely grateful.

"I do not want people who will recognise us to see us." It repeated for the third time. Mat's nose wrinkled in annoyance.

"Yes, I know." He sighed and let his head dangle. He was going to live, if as a captive, if they got away. He would die if they did not. Despite the drawbacks, Mat much preferred the first option. "It's easy for you _gholam_, you can just slip and squeeze away. We normal farm boys can't." He glanced up at it, and it was watching him. "We can't get across the bridge, and we'd never be able to swim the river without being spotted. We're stuck."

Its face twisted a little in an almost-scowl, although Mat didn't think it was directed at him, and it rubbed the scar on its cheek thoughtfully.

"We could get uniforms and pretend to be soldiers." It said quietly, as if to itself. "They'd want to know our names," Mat shook his head. "And I don't think Captain Cauthon and Captain _Gholam_ will work someh…wait…"

The _gholam_ watched as Mat's face dawned. "The harbours! There are two harbours, one at the North-west one at the South-east. If we got a boat…"

"Without being seen." It reminded him.

"They wouldn't recognise us there. We could disguise ourselves as well, just in case. Besides, I don't think Egwene will have told the ordinary people to look out for us. She thought you were going to kill me, not kidnap me." Mat looked into the _gholam's_ considering face until he realised that he was actually hoping a plan to kidnap himself would work. Absurd. Just absurd.

Slowly the _gholam_ looked up and turned its head to look south-east, as if it could see through all the houses that stood in its view.

"Will there be ships?" It asked, turning back and catching Mat's eyes with its intense gaze.

"There should be. I don't know if they leave at night, but there will be lots of them, and at least one will be leaving in the morning." He told it honestly. Those eyes pierced him as if trying to tell if he was being sly. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't want to die if we get spotted or can't escape from here." Mat found the neutral, blank face frustratingly hard to read.

"I will trust you, Matrim Cauthon." It replied softly. There was no threat added, but Mat knew what would come if that trust was betrayed. "The south harbour." It told him, and nodded for Mat to move. Mat shook his head again.

"Let's try and make sure we won't be recognised."

The _gholam_ cocked its head curiously as Mat bent down and got a handful of dirt and began to smear a little on his face, as if he had not had a bath for a few weeks. Mat was glad now that his hat and _ashandarei_ were left in Egwene's study. They were far too distinctive. He motioned for the _gholam_ to follow him as he jogged lightly over to a nearby well, watchful of guards that might appear. It did so, frowning ever so slightly, but not questioning. Mat drew up some water and wet his hands, carefully slicking his hair back. He wanted to have a different silhouette and look, just in case an Aes Sedai did turn up and glance at him. Satisfied with his new, if cold, hairstyle, Mat pulled off his green coat and rolled it up. He used the sleeves to tie it and make it look like a pack.

He turned to the _gholam_, shivering slightly. "Now you. Cover up the scars with a bit of earth."

It blinked slowly, then bent down and did as Mat said, copying the way he had done so with his face. It stood looking decidedly dirty. Mat examined it. "Good. They shouldn't recognise you anyway, as you were in the dark, but the people may have been warned to look out for a scarred man."

The _gholam_ looked back at him neutrally. Mat frowned. "And try and add some…expression into your face, or they'll think you're sick in the head." To this the _gholam_ smiled pleasantly. It was slightly disturbing. Mat sighed and started walking toward the southern harbour, the _gholam_ by his side. He looked over at it. "And don't smile."

* * *

As they approached the harbour more people joined them on the roads. Some were drunk, but others had coats up to cover their faces from the cold and hurried along. None looked at the twice, much to Mat's relief, although he wasn't sure if it was indifference or the state of their faces. 

The _gholam_ stared up at the ships docked, its lips parting slowly as its eyes went up and up the mast of the tallest ship. Mat wondered, by its reaction, if it had ever seen a ship before.

"I have not seen these up close." It commented, answering his question unintentionally.

"Let's hope you don't get seasick." He scanned the area. There was no one working or looking as if they were getting ready to leave. They just seemed to be walking somewhere, home maybe. They would have to wait until morning then. He spotted an inn on the waterfront and light shone out from the windows. He could hear the faint sound of pipe music and men laughing. The sign above the door read 'Mother's rest', although Mat betted that most mothers wouldn't want to step near the place. He nudged the _gholam's_ arm and it turned its gaze away from the harbour. "We'll have to find some beds for the night. No one's leaving now. Perhaps we'll be able to find a ships captain inside."

It examined him, considering if this was a trick perhaps, but then nodded its agreement. Mat was grateful for this at least. Spending time in taverns was something familiar.

With the _gholam_ at his side they walked into the inn. It was large and crowded, the air thick with the smell of drink, sweat and food. Burly men sat around tables, laughing and drinking, some with cards and some with dice. Several pretty tavern girls scooted around, serving drinks and smiling, deftly avoiding or putting up with the bottom pinching they received.

To his right he felt the _gholam_ tense, and he looked over at it. It had its nose wrinkled. Mat put on a jolly smile and nodded for it to follow him. He stepped over to a free table and sat down. Luckily the inn was so crowded they were glanced at then ignored, only receiving a longer look because of their height and relatively slim builds. The _gholam_ sat opposite him, seeming rather uncomfortable. Mat leaned forward. "Have you been in a tavern before?"

"Yes." It replied quietly, barely loud enough for Mat to hear over the din. "Once. To kill a channeler."

Mat's reply was prevented by the appearance of a shapely girl at the table. She smiled at them kindly enough, but it was a smile that had been long practiced.

"What would you like?" She asked, resting a trey full of drinks on her hip.

"Spiced wine for me." Mat replied, and glanced over at the _gholam_. He almost jumped in surprise. Its usually calm unemotional face had a pleasant and interested look as it smiled at the girl. It looked so…normal. "What do you want uh…" Mat's mind went blank as he groped for a name. "Eben?"

"The same." The _gholam_ replied calmly, and the girl nodded.

"I'll bring them to you." She went over to another table.

"Eben?" the _gholam_ asked, frowning slightly.

"I couldn't bloody well call you _Gholam_, could I?" Mat scowled at it and crossed his arms. He didn't ask to be put in this situation, twitching between living and dying every second, aiding his own kidnap, calling Shadowspawn 'Eben.' "And you can buy your own flaming drink." He added as an afterthought. The _gholam_ regarded him coolly.

"How much will it be?"

"Never mind." Mat snapped back, and let his eyes travel around the room, looking for a potential captain. "So how is it you want me to do this, exactly? Show you what freedom is like?" At this the _gholam_ cocked its head and smiled its own disturbing smile.

"You have already started." It held one hand up and motioned at the room. Mat's lip twisted in thought as he digested this new information, still scanning. His eyes fell on a bearded and tattooed man with arms like Perrin. He hoped the anchor tattoo on his neck wasn't simply a design the man found appealing.

The girl slipped up next to him and put two glasses of wine on the table. Mat fished out some coppers from his pocket and handed them to her.

"Do you have any rooms free for me and my friend?" He asked her, and she nodded.

"I think so. I'll get Eadwin to come and talk to you." Without an explanation of who Eadwin was she was off to the next table. The _gholam_ frowned slightly and looked down at the glass of wine in front of it. Mat watched as its nostrils flared, taking in the scent, and lifted the glass up to its nose.

"You've never drunk wine before, have you?" He said, mildly amused, and took a taste from his own. It was hot and strong, and slightly bitter. The way Mat liked it. The _gholam_ shook its head.

"I do not know if I can. I have never drunk anything but-"

"Yes yes." Mat interrupted and lent forward. "Let's not mention that." The _gholam_ flashed him a brief glace before gazing back down at the wine. Mat began to wonder if drinking anything but blood might kill it. Hopefully. Perhaps his luck would hold on this. "Try it. Its good wine."

Gingerly, curiosity getting the better of its logic perhaps, the _gholam_ took a sip. Delicately it ran a pink tongue over its lips, paused for a few seconds, and drunk some more. Mat inwardly cheered. Maybe it would drop dead on the floor and this whole horrible nightmare could be over.

Instead, the _gholam's _eyes widened slightly and a slow pleasured expression came to its face. It took another mouthful, more this time, then a great gulp, finishing the glass. It blinked then looked at Mat.

"More."

Fascinated, Mat slid over his own glass to its hands and it took it up, cupping it tightly. It lowered its nose to it and took in the sent of the hot wine, eyes still locked on Mat. "You drink this often?" Mat nodded in reply and lent back in the chair, pulling his gaze away from that of the Shadowspawn and back over to the tattooed man. The man was playing dice. Mat grinned inwardly. This was his chance. As soon as this Eadwin came over and they sorted out some beds, he would go over. Hopefully he could work out passage on a ship this night.

The sound of glass on wood made him look back around. The _gholam_ had finished the wine. "More." It told him, blinking slowly. It had drunk that fast…

"You wanted to talk about accommodation?" Said a deep rough voice from behind Mat. Mat turned and was confronted by a short and rather round man with a bald head.

"Is this your inn?" Mat asked him, twisting around on the chair.

"It surely is. How many beds will you be needing?" The man, presumably Eadwin, glanced at the _gholam_. "Two?"

"If you've got them."

"I surely do. Most o' these men sleep on their ships. I've got a nice cosy room with two beds 'n a wash basin, if you want it." He rubbed his hands on a cloth.

Mat opened his mouth to ask how much it would be when the _gholam_ lent forward and said in a slow, lingering voice

"Coooozee."

Mat stared at it and the innkeeper frowned. The _gholam_ smiled.

"Yes…" Eadwin replied, looking mildly perturbed. "Very cosy. Got a nice fireplace."

"How much?" Mat got in quickly.

"Two silver pennies each." Eadwin cast the smiling _gholam_ another strange look. Mat riffled in his purse and gave the man five.

"For our drinks tonight." Mat said to Eadwin's questioning frown. Eadwin nodded in realisation and slipped the money away. "Talking of drink, can we both have some more wine?"

"For that money you can have a whole pitcher." Eadwin grinned and Mat felt a little better. At least the man was honest. "I'll go and get one for you."

As the large man went to do so, the _gholam_ lent its head on one hand, still smiling its own unique smile at Mat.

"I like wine." It commented, and Mat raised an eyebrow.

"I can tell. Do you see that man over there, with the tattoo on his neck?" He said leaning forward to it. The _gholam_ glanced over.

"Yes."

"He's playing dice, which I happen to be quite good at. I'll see if I can sort out something with him."

"You will not leave." It said, its voice losing its calm tone.

"I'm not going to bloody leave. He's only across the room." Something was defiantly up with it. The wine must be affecting it, Mat reasoned. "I'll play a few games and win passage on his boat. And if he hasn't got one then one of these men must."

The _gholam_ frowned, and shook its head slightly.

"My body feels strange."

"Drink some more wine," Mat suggested. "It'll make you feel better." To his amazement it nodded. A pitcher was suddenly put down on the table by Eadwin and Mat poured out some for both himself and the _gholam_. It snatched up the glass with a snake-like speed, holding it tightly. Mat hoped no one else had seen that. "Have as much as you want. I'm going over there. You can watch me as closely as you like."

The _gholam_ began to drink, and look it gave him over the top of the glass was enough to assure Mat that it would be doing just that. He stood up, taking his wine with him, and approached the tattooed man's table. They were playing for coppers, and a pile of them lay by the tattooed man's hands. "Are you the captain of one of those ships out there?" Mat asked, and the men all turned and stared at him.

"Why do you want to know?" He replied, and the light highlighted a deep scar across his right eye.

"Me and my friend are after passage south. We're looking for work and have found none in Tar Valon."

The man looked about the room and nodded to the _gholam_.

"Is that your friend?" He asked and Mat turned around. It was sipping at the glass and watching Mat closely. It appeared to be talking to itself, but Mat could hear no words across the distance.

"Yes. Could we buy passage on your ship?"

The man chuckled to himself good-naturedly.

"Tis not my ship. I'm first mate. But sit down and have a game or two with us, and I'll put a good word in for you with the captain."

The other men laughed and shuffled over to make room. Mat pulled up a chair and then his sleeves. A game would take his mind off those eyes on the back of his neck.

A good couple of hours later Mat returned to his table, pockets full of coppers and the assurance from Tomas, the first mate, that he would talk to the captain. He sat down and the _gholam_ blinked at him blearily.

"How much have you…" Mat leaned over and looked in the pitcher. It was empty. "Oh light."

"You have been gone for a long time." It said, voice barely loud enough for Mat to hear.

"The first mate is going to talk to his captain for us. We should be at the docks by dawn. We'll be away from Tar Valon by noon."

The _gholam_ didn't react to this news, save to stare at him darkly. "I want to go to the room now." Mat told it. "I don't know if you sleep, but I do. And it's been a long, bloody awful day."

"You will not…" It sat up straight, and Mat noticed that its hands were shaking. "You will not go away again. You…" Its eyes went out of focus and dropped the glass. It landed on the table and cracked. Mat stared at it, both frightened by this behaviour and morbidly fascinated. It wobbled and seemed to give up on speech, slumping slightly in the chair. Mat sat there watching it closely. It didn't move and its eyes were staring blankly down at the table.

Even when he had captured it, he had never seem the _gholam_ so…helpless looking. He began to curse inwardly that he didn't have the medallion. This would probably be the only chance he would have with it in this state. He doubted that after this experience it would ever touch wine again. He pursed his lips and waved one hand a few inches in front of its bowed head. There was no reaction.

_Get out!_ A voice cried in his head, and Mat tensed. Would it notice? It seemed to have passed out, but with its eyes open. But if it caught him… But then, once it was done 'learning' from him it was going to kill him anyway. If he did manage to get across one of the bridges perhaps he could lose it.

Mind made up, heart thumping, he slid slowly from the chair. The _gholam_ stayed where it was. Mat backed away, keeping his eyes on it, watching for any movement. He stepped through the doorway and out into the crisp night air. A couple of men stared at him. It still did not look up. Hardly daring to move Mat turned around and looked toward the north. He could just see one of the bridges by the bright light of the moon. If he could make it to the guards without the _gholam_ catching up with him they could hide him, and it would either have to hunt the whole city for him or give up. Then he could find Egwene, she was bound to return to the tower sooner of later, and get back his medallion. Then he could hunt down the _gholam_ on his own terms and burn it until it stopped moving. He cursed himself for not having done that in the first place, and tried to work out why he had spared it. He has known inwardly that the _gholam_ wouldn't talk once imprisoned, known it would hate every second of its capture. Why had he been such a bloody fool??

Mat ran. He ran as fast as his legs could take him. The road whooshed by and he dodged the few other people travelling, ignoring their enraged shouts. The bridge, he had to get to the bridge! The chill night air whipped at his face and the blood pounded in his ears. With every footfall his skull screamed in pain but he stubbornly ignored it. This was bliss compared to the death the _gholam_ probably had planned for him. He doubted he could run any faster if even the Dark One was on his heels.

His head in agony, every breath tearing at his lungs, the entrance to the bridge came into sight. He wanted to scream out to them but his air was already threatening to run out and he simply didn't have the energy to form words anymore.

Suddenly something landed on his back and he went facedown into the road, grit ripping open his cheek. For the force that hit him Mat's first thought was that a tree had fallen on him, but then hands grasped his throat, choking him completely. Mat gasped for air and took in dust instead, his windpipe felt like it was about to snap. He found himself being pulled up and the weight on his back lifted. The _gholam's_ terribly calm face came into the view of his bulging eyes as his feet left the ground. He scrabbled at its hands with his own but it just looked at him impassively. For a few seconds Mat thought it was going to just strangle him to death. Then he was thrown. He landed at the side of the road, head reeling, drawing in great rasps of air. Before he had time to recover it was on him again, straddling his chest, hands pressing down his shoulders. There was no sign of wobbling or confusion now, just that horribly neural expression that one might wear doing the washing, or lighting the fire, or just sitting there doing nothing.

"I told you," It said with its calm voice. "I told you that you will not go away again."

Mat stared at it, waiting for it to snap his neck, or break his head. "We had a deal Matrim Cauthon. I spare your life for as long as I can, and you show me freedom. _This_," It cocked its head. "is not showing me freedom. This is running away."

Mat tried to speak, to say anything, make up an excuse, but it was pressing down on his chest so hard. "Do you wish to change you mind?" It asked with a hint of anger crossing its face. "Shall I kill you now and go after the women?"

Mat shook his head desperately. "You will not try and run away again. The next time you do, I will tear off your arm. I know how to keep you alive." It ran the heel of its hand over his shoulder and a small moan escaped Mat's throat. It relaxed the pressure on his chest and Mat gasped for words.

"I ha-haven't changed…my mind."

"I do not fully understand humans." It said quietly, as if to itself. "I offer the chance to live unhunted for a long time. Maybe years. But you run away, forcing me to hunt you again." Its hand went up to the scar on its own cheek. "I should have killed you for burning me, but I let you live. Why?" It frowned and caught Mat's eyes with its own. "Why do I do this?"

"So…so I can show you free-freedom." Mat choked out. His voice sounded rough, like some had rubbed over his vocal cords with sandpaper. It leaned in uncomfortably close to him, so close Mat could see every hair in its eyebrows, flecks of green in its hazel eyes, the bow of its top lip.

"You are _mine_, Matrim Cauthon." It whispered. "And you will not leave me again."


	7. Shayol Ghul

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

**First off, many apologies for the really long break. I've had some problems at home that have made it difficult to write, and I've been pretty depressed for a while. But, I'm back in action once again.  
****This isn't a very long chapter as I wanted to get something out as soon as possible for anyone who's been reading, but I hope it's still up to standard.**

**Sorry to keep you waiting, guys.**

* * *

The few seconds that followed the _gholam's_ words felt like the longest in Mat's life. His head was reeling with pain, his cheek dripping blood and the leg that had been broken was aching with a deep moaning agony. Did it mean he would not leave because he was dead? It didn't seem to be about to kill him. It had said the _next_ time he tried to run away. Was it going to let him live? What did it mean by 'you are mine'? He was its captive, but he belonged to himself. 

The heat that had built up in his chest from the running, the fear and the pain suddenly dissolved, and a terrible icy sensation clutched at him. The connotations of the _gholam's_ words flew through his head, each possibility of what it had meant was worse than the one that came before.  
The _gholam's_ eyes closed slowly, and it sat up, freeing Mat's shoulders. It ran a hand over its head, lips parted. Mat dared not move.

"I feel strange." It whispered, and looked back down at him. "My body feels numb."  
It slipped off of his torso and sat on the ground next to him. Careful not to move too quickly, lest it think he was about to run again, Mat managed to sit up. He winced as some bruising on his side made itself known. It watched him with narrowed eyes.

"What do you mean when you said that I'm yours?" He asked hesitantly. He could barely get the words out. Not because of the pain, but because of fear of the answer.

Without replying the _gholam_ reached out one hand toward him. Mat flinched back, but froze when it kept coming. It was possibly drunk and very unpredictable at the best of times. Better to let it do what it wished. With its index finger the _gholam_ stroked the side of Mat's neck in a gentle caress. Mat shivered at the contact and the memory of its fingers in his mouth, thumb rubbing his jaw, came back to him.

"We are very similar, Matrim Cauthon." It tipped its head. Its voice had taken on a strange tone that Mat had not heard before. The finger ran down to where neck joined shoulder and slipped under the shirt to run along his collarbone.

"Wh-what do you mean?" He could feel a burning trail on his skin where its finger had touched him. Everything suddenly felt more sensitised, his pain, the feel of cloth against him, its warm skin on his own.With its other hand it briefly tapped the foxhead scar on its cheek. Mat frowned. What did that have to do with anything?  
It pulled away its finger and held it up between them. Dark red blood dripped down onto its hand.

"Do you not see?" A serene smile came to its face. Mat touched his own ripped cheek and started a little at the sharp pain. "We are very similar. Perhaps it will scar."

Mat shook his head.

"No. We're not alike at all. You're Shadowspawn, I'm human. You…you kill people!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Gingerly he dabbed at the wound and tried to wipe up the blood.  
The _gholam's_ smile widened, and its eyes focused on its bloody finger.

"So do you."

"That's not the same!" He was getting angry now. How _dare_ it say things like that? Just because they both had wounds on their cheeks didn't mean that they were _alike_. "You kill people for fun!"

"I harvest because I am ordered to and because I need to feed."

"You still enjoy it! I don't enjoy killing, it's just something that has to be done. To save the world from things like _you_. To save my friends."

Delicately it brought the bloody finger to its lips. Mat stared in horror as it touched its tongue to the blood. "Stop it!" He snapped, wanting to make it do so forcefully, but not quite daring. "Stop that right now!"

It did not stop. With a slow deliberate movement it drew the finger inside its mouth, then back out again, clean of fluid. Only some drips remained on its hand. Mat's mouth went into a snarl of disgust and he stuffed the hanky back in his pocket. The _gholam's_ eyes flicked to his face and its smile faded.

"And what else would you do to save your friends?" It asked softly, a terrible hint of…something Mat recognised but couldn't place behind its voice.

"What do you mean by that…?"

It studied him for a few moments, and Mat had the horrible feeling that it was deciding something. He sat there, frozen, hands clutched into fists, its eyes on him. "What did you mean!"

It stood up, and he peered at it. "What are you doing?"

"We need to go back."

"You haven't answered my question. What did you mean by, what else would I do?" Mat tried to pull himself to his feet, but his hip screamed with agony and he collapsed again to the floor. "Flaming bloody leg!" His face screwed up. "Bloody building! Bloody Seanchan!"

The _gholam_ bent down on its haunches and Mat glared at it. "Bloody flaming shadowspawn!" He struggled to regain his footing, but his muscles were simply not cooperating. Without a word the _gholam_ latched one firm arm around Mat's back and gripped his side. Mat flinched and tried to pull away, but it held him too tightly. With a strong but gentle pull it helped him to his feet, supporting his weight. "Get off." Mat protested weakly, leaning against it.

"You cannot stand on your own." It stated, and started walking slowly back along the road. Resigned to having it help him, Mat limped with it.

He decided never to let it drink wine again.

* * *

A gateway tore through the Pattern and opened on the bleak, shadowed slopes of Shayol Ghul. The young woman sat on the rocks nearby looked up with a blank, broken gaze. One of her tilted eyes was blackened. Her arm lay broken on her lap. Sunlight shone dimly through the gateway, and her numbed mind jumped with recognition. But as swiftly as it had came, a man stepped through and his broad-shouldered, terribly tall frame blocked out the already feeble light. She whimpered as the gateway closed behind him, and a moan escaped her throat as one of the rock-like monsters grasped her unbroken arm. She wondered vaguely if the man would save her, but he merely stood there watching with bright blue eyes. As she was pulled inside of the cave she reached out toward him, but the rock thing dragged her onward incessantly and he turned away. 

Moridin pulled his eyes from the cave entrance and the Saldaean woman, and instead turned toward the black gaping mouth of the Pit of Doom. Forcing his reluctant legs to move he headed up the mountain, the loose rocks under his boots threatening to trip him up or twist an ankle.

This would not be a good meeting.

As he approached he looked around for Shaidar Haran, but the too-tall Mryddraal was not in sight. Despite being Nae'blis he did not always know where the Fade was. It was a law unto itself. But Shaidar Haran was one of the only people that he knew would not do anything without the Great Lord's say so, so his lack of knowledge didn't worry him too much. He walked into the tunnel and began his decent. The teeth of the Great Lord cleared his head by an inch. That was a good sign at least. He wondered if they would be in the same position on his return journey. In his head he went over what he wanted to say. It was always better to plan, that way he was less likely to blurt out something stupid. Perhaps the Great Lord already knew what he was about to tell him, but then again it was just as likely that he did not.

He stepped into the Pit of Doom itself and approached slowly. At the precipice he bowed down, head lowered. The terrible whirling sky rushed above his head, but he did not look up at it. Years before he had been in wonderment of it, but he had now come to this place many times. The rock was heated to an almost unbearable temperature, but it had to be suffered. In here it was forbidden to take hold of Saidin, Saidar or the True Power, so there was nothing to numb the heat.

MORIDIN

His head exploded in a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain, and he was glad he was already on his knees. The voice of the Great Lord was something you could never become used to, no matter how many times it was heard. The ecstasy filled his entire body. Next to this the feelings brought by channelling the True Power were pale and insignificant.

WHAT NEWS DO YOU BRING?

He struggled to regain his thoughts in mists of the screams of his body, and bit down upon his tongue in an attempt to bring them together.

"It is the _gholam_, Great Lord."

There was a pause.

SPEAK

"I have been trying to locate the _gholam_ as you ordered, Great Lord, but it is hard to track. It still follows the orders it was given. Then a month ago I had news from the Black Ajah. It had been caught, and was being held in the dungeons of the White Tower. I told them that they were to try and release it when possible, without giving away their true alliance."

HOW WAS A GHOLAM CAPTURED?

There was ever so slight confusion in the voice. Moridin was used to small fluctuations of emotion. He had spoken to the Great Lord too many times to count.

"I believe they used a type of arrow, and had it roped in some way. The women were not sure of the details."

CONTINUE

"I have just discovered that it escaped from its cell, and has attacked the Sisters within. The White Tower has been emptied and none dare enter again. This behaviour is not usual for a _gholam_. Although they are always unpredictable."

I WOULD NOT HAVE WISHED THIS

Moridin bowed his head as low as possible, ears ringing, is whole body shaking with rapture.

"They are hard to manage. Aginor thought it was because of the nature of their creation. What would you have me do, Great Lord?"

There was another pause.

FIND IT. BRING IT TO ME

This was no longer a side order that Moridin could leave to others, or forget about for a time. This was serious, now.

"As you order, Great Lord, it will be done."

GO NOW. I WANT IT HERE

As the aftershocks of the voice weakened in his mind, Moridin got to his feet. His eyesight was slightly blurry and fuzzed. He backed away with his head lowered until he reached the tunnel, and he squinted down to the other end. Sure enough the teeth had lowered. Not by much, but enough to let him know the Great Lord was not happy. Not happy at all. Wincing slightly as the fabric of his britches rubbed against the burnt skin of his knees, Mordin made his way back out, the stone teeth dragging against his scalp.

Great. Just perfect. Typical _gholam_ causing problems. Now to find the thing. He scowled to himself. At least in a game of _Sha'rah_ the pieces stayed where you placed them. He stuffed one hand in his pocket and his fingers played with the piece of string there, trying to ignore the humiliation of this tunnel. For the first time since the old fool had gotten himself killed _again,_ Moridin wished Aginor was still around. He was the one who had known most about _gholam_, and could perhaps offer advise on how to get it back. Moridin had had only a little contact with the things, mostly being busy with other tasks. Curse Sammael! If he had sent the _gholam_ to Shayol Ghul instead of sending it off with his own orders this would not have happened.  
He searched his memory for who had had the most contact with the six _gholam_. Irritatingly he remembered Rahvin using one, but he was dead, and permanently so. Who else…? Sammael, obviously, but he was out the way and off the board at long last. He cast his mind back, thinking on old conversations and discussions he had had.

"Gholam_," Aginor said, with a distinctly cocky glint in his eyes "are impossible to kill. Send it after Lews Therin and the Dragon will not ever be lying with his wife again." He put a hand on the shoulder of the gholam, who did not respond to the touch. It merely stood there, eyes straight ahead. "It could be the answer to all our problems."  
_"_Or the beginnings of them." Balthamel interjected from his chair, where he was calmly twiddling his hair with one finger. Aginor scowled at him.  
_"_It cannot create problems, it's impossible for it to disobey us."  
__Balthamel snorted and grinned boyishly.  
_"_And when you come back to Shayol Ghul without a head I'll remind you of that."  
The _gholam_ had turned its eyes to Balthamel at that, and smiled at him in a distinctly predatory way. Balthamel arched an eyebrow. "Your new creation seems to like me." He chuckled. "It doesn't fancy me, does it?"  
_"_You're an idiot." Aginor snarled at him. "Do you take nothing seriously?"  
__Balthamel sighed and stood up.  
_"_Of course I do. Well done, Aginor, your new…what do you call it?"  
_"Gholam_."  
_"_Your new _gholam_ is very nice. I'm sure it will be most useful." He peered into the _gholam's_ face. "It will certainly blend in. What do you think, Ishamael?"  
Ishamael tore his eyes away from the fireplace and looked at the gholam. It met his gaze and its smile widened.  
_"_I think it is dangerous."  
_"_And I think that's the point." Balthamel added._

Moridin mentally shook his head. It might well be unable to disobey, but that was useless unless he could find it in the first place. Memories flashed through his mind and he struggled to think of a time locating a _gholam_ had come up. He could only think of once, and it was not detailed.

_Rahvin's impossibly handsome and youthful face split into a smile as Ishamael took a drink of wine from the ornate goblet.  
_"_Most of the others won't drink what I offer. Probably think I'm trying to poison them." He took a gulp from his own goblet and motioned toward the bottle. "Pour some more for yourself, when you want."  
__Ishamael nodded and watched as the other man lent back in his chair. "So what brings you here?"  
_"_Have you taken care of the Aes Sedai rat yet?"  
_"_Yes. I sent one of the _gholam_ after him."  
_"_You're not taking care of the matter personally?" Ishamael tasted the wine again. It really was high quality. One of Rahvin's many vices; good wine.  
_"_You know I prefer to avoid confrontation. Why do it myself when I can send one of them after him?"  
_"_Some of the others don't like to use them."  
__Rahvin shrugged.  
_"_Then they're fools. The _gholam_ are reliable so long as you are careful with what you order." Reflections of the fire dances in his jet black eyes. "They can be sneaky."  
_"_What do you mean?"  
_"_They have to do as you order. Exactly as you order. So it's important to be careful what you say, as they could twist things to their own use. Most of the time you don't need to worry, seeing as they like to kill and are keen to. But they resent being constrained. You can see it in their faces. So I'm always careful not to leave my orders to interpretation."  
_"_How?" Ishamael lent forward slightly.  
_"_For one, I always tell them to report back to me once they've done their job, or they could, technically, stay out there until they were found. And I expect finding a lost _gholam_ would be like trying to catch smoke."  
_"_You think they're that clever? To manipulate orders?"  
__Rahvin smiled grimly.  
_"_Yes. They're intelligent, more so than Myrddraal, even. They are useful, but Aginor made a mistake creating them. They should never have been made. His experiments went too far this time, it's all very well breeding trollocs and making constructs. But the _gholam_…I use them, but I…I don't know, Ishamael, there's something that I don't like. He went too far."_

As the words of the dead Chosen went through his head, Mordin felt suddenly angry that Rahvin was no longer alive. He could have helped with this task; he had known how to work _gholam_. But his knowledge had died with him. One thing was clear; getting the _gholam_ back would not be easy. It would not come bounding back to Shayol Ghul, not after the trouble it had caused. It was hunting time, and for once in its existence the _gholam_ would be the one running.

He stepped out of the tunnel at last and onto the slopes. Still no sign of Shaidar Haran, and there were no more prisoners waiting to be taken in by the rock creatures. As he made his way down to the valley he began to plan. He would have to chase, there was no option, and no one he trusted enough to help him. He knew only that the runway _gholam_ was one of the male ones, but had no idea which of the three. The last place it had been seen by the Black Ajah was Tar Valon, so that was his first, most logical place to look. Moridin grasped the True Power and the ecstasy washed over him, numbing the pain in his legs but adding its own unique agony. A faint smile came to his lips as he tore a gateway through the pattern.  
Let the hunt begin.


	8. Room three

**I've no excuses for the past few months absence. I was complacent and lazy. I got too caught up reading other people's work and neglected my own.  
On the bright side, however, I'm not dead! I'm determined to finishthis before KoD comes out, as I'm pretty sure Jordans going to have something in it concerning our squeezy gholam friend that'll make my characterization completely wrong. :P  
I very much appologise for the absence.**

**Disclaimer is same is always. I don't own WoT world, Mat Cauthon or the gholam etc etc.**

* * *

As Mat limped past the bar, his arm still around the _gholam's_ shoulders, Tomas grinned at him and waved a jug of ale. Mat smiled back, his jaw beginning to feel increasingly sore and the movement of his face making his ripped cheek sting. They weaved through the crowd of men until he saw Eadwin. Eadwin spotted them and gave the _gholam _a strange look, perhaps remembering the 'coooozee' incident, and turned his attention to Mat.

"You alright?"

Mat nodded and attempted to stand straight, but more burning cut through his hip and he gave it up. "I just twisted my ankle while…racing with Eben. I'll be fine after a bit of rest." Eadwin glanced again at the _gholam_ and raised his eyebrows.

"Your friend put down a fair amount of wine. Will he be wanting some m- "

"No!" Mat jumped in, voice a little too fast. "No more wine." Mat felt, rather than saw, the _gholam_ turn its head toward him. As close as they already were he could feel its breath on his neck, warm and tickling.

"I like wine." It said slowly.

"That's the point." Mat shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to look at it. "No more tonight, Eben. Please." The _gholam's_ brows twitched upward in surprise, and its lips silently formed the word 'please'. Mat began to worry whether he had annoyed it again, but then it smiled at him.

"As you wish."

Mat blinked, wondering if this was some kind of wind up on the _gholam's_ part, or if it simply wanted him to collapse and die from shock. It was being compliant?  
Eadwin coughed, and they both turned back to him. The innkeeper's eyes were narrowed suspiciously. Mat tried not to shuffle. "Which room number are we in?" He asked, hoping that somehow this man hadn't linked them in what had happened at the Tower. Eadwin leaned forward, and Mat's instincts told him the understanding and slightly pitying look on the man's face was not a good sign.

"Are you sure you want two beds?" Eadwin asked, just loud enough for them to hear.

Mat felt the whole of his face flush hotly, and he struggled not to just turn and run away from this whole damn insane situation. Not that he'd get far. In contrast, the _gholam_ grinned widely in amusement, and its grip on his side tightened. Unfortunately for Mat, Eadwin seemed to take his blushes and the _gholam's_ grin as proof of his suspicions. "If you like you can stay in room three, with just the double.

"No." Mat said in what he hoped was his most forceful voice. "Two beds are fine. Two beds are great. We don't…we aren't…we're not…"

Eadwin put a hand on Mat's shoulder and looked at him kindly. "You don't need to worry. My nephew is the same, I don't mind it. I won't say a word."

"No!"

"I think it would be interesting." The _gholam_ added unhelpfully.

"Shut up you!" Mat glared at it, too frustrated to watch his words. "We aren't like _that_! I'm not his…his…wife or husband or lover or anything!" The innkeeper frowned,trying to work out what was the truth and who was winding him up.

"You shouldn't be ashamed. I won't say a word."

Mat mentally punched the man. What did he need to do to convince him he and the _gholam_ weren't pillowfriends?

"How big is the bed?" The _gholam_ asked, sounding genuinely interested.  
Mat growled at it. "Fine time for you to start showing a sense of humour! We don't want one bed, thank you!"

"The bed's big enough for two." Eadwin answered the _gholam_, ignoring Mat, who he now seemed to have decided was theodd one of the two after all. He turned and went behind the bar, and began to look for the right key on the hooks in the wall. Mat took the opportunity to fix the _gholam_ with the nastiest glare he could muster.

"I'm not sharing a bed with you!"

The _gholam_ simply continued to smile. "Then you will have to sleep on the floor. He is getting us the key."

"You…you…why? Why do you want one bed? Has that bloody wine made you even more insane?"

"It is cold at night."

"Well if you flaming well think I'm going to keep you warm you've another thing coming! You're mad, utterly mad!"

Eadwin returned with a key hanging from his finger. The _gholam_ held out its spare hand and Eadwin let him have it. "There we go. See? No trouble." The innkeep nodded his head to the _gholam_ and a furious Mat then went over to a table.  
The _gholam_ began to walk toward the stairs that led up to the rooms and Mat followed, knowing he had little other option. If he didn't do what it wanted it would tear off his arm.

"I hate you." Mat growled as he limped alongside it. "You're a cruel flaming goat-kisser."

"I know."

"If anyone's going to sleep on the floor it'll be you. You're the one that seems to be obsessed with…bedding me."

"From what I have seen you give little thought to who you go to bed with." As Mat stumbled on the top step it helped him up. "You have danced with many." Mat regained his footing and pushed hair from his eyes.

"First off, they're all women. I'm not like that man's nephew. Second, they're all _human_."

It paused and looked at him. "Why?"

Mat blinked and started hobbling again, trying to see room three. Luckily for him it was close to the top of the stairs. The door was old but the wood looked sturdy. Like the rest of the inn everything was worn, but looked well cared for. "Why what? And the door's there. You have the key."

The _gholam_ released him and unlocked the door as Mat lent against the wall. A smallish room with a warm looking double bed was inside. The paint was faded and the wooden floor scratched, but it was clean at least. It held the door open for him as he limped in.  
It slipped inside behind him and closed the door, locking it behind itself. The key disappeared into one of its pockets. Mat plonked down on the bed and rubbed his screaming hip. The _gholam_ stood by the small fireplace, watching him with that curious glint in its eyes.

"Why only women?"

Mat shook his head and began to unbutton his filthy shirt. "Don't you know anything about us and how we bed each other?"

"I know the anatomy of humans, and I have seen men and women together. I have heard people speak of relations between the same sexes. I know the…" It paused, searching for the word.

"Theory?" Mat suggested, and pulled off his shirt. The _gholam_ nodded. "Push over that washbasin?" Mat asked, and it moved the small stand in the corner over to him. He poured some water and began to wash the dirt from his face and chest.

"Why is it some humans choose to sleep only with women and some only with men?" Its head was cocked at that curious angle.

"I don't know. They just…do. Born like it, maybe. Some are different.It's not spoken about though."

"Why?"

"Because…it's just not the done thing to talk about those that aren't the same as everyone else."

"That is…odd." Its brows formed a small frown.

"Maybe. But it's just the way it is." The water in the basin was getting dirtier by the second.

"You only find women attractive"

"That's right. Light, you should have been taught this stuff." Mat chuckled a little. "Maybe they didn't want you falling in love and getting married."

"_Gholam_ were not made to marry." It replied, and settled down on the rug by the fireplace, apparently not bothered by the blazing heat. "We were made only to kill."

"I figured that."

"You were lying with the Queen in the other city? The one under the bed."

Mat flinched and paused. Thinking of Tylin made him feel sick with guilt and anger. "Don't talk about her, you bastard. It's because of you she's dead."

"You were not there. She was."

"Couldn't you have bloody left her alone? She couldn't even fight back!" Mat threw the wet flannel at it savagely. It was a useless act, but what else could he do? The _gholam _picked it up and held it in its hands. "You tell me _why_ now, you murdering scum. Why did you kill a helpless women, tied up under a bed!"  
It looked up at him silently, fingering the flannel. "Well? Why!"

"I am a _gholam_."

"That's not a proper answer!" Mat dropped down to the floor, dripping wet still, and held it eye to eye. "Just because I can go out there and steal something, I don't. Just because I could go and rape a pretty woman, I don't. Because I could go out and cut someone's head off, I don't. You didn't have to kill her, but you did! For no reason. Why?"

"I am a _gholam,_ it is what I was made to do."

"You're ordered to kill me, but you aren't! Why kill her? You weren't ordered to."

"I was…" It paused and a slight frown came to its face. "Angry."

"So you took it out on her by ripping her head off?"

"Yes."

"So if I made you angry now you'd go and kill that innkeeper, just to spite me?"

"No. That would give us away."

"So what would you do?"

"Do not anger me."

Mat snarled at it and snatched the flannel from its hands. With effort he pulled himself back up onto the bed and resumed his scrubbing.  
"I'm fed up of playing your bloody games. Answering your stupid questions. No matter how much I tell you, or how much you learn, you will never ever really know what it's like to be human. You're as far from a human as you can get. An animal has more conscience than you." His face was contorted with anger. "You'll never have freedom, freewill or an ounce of humanity, so just stop playing this stupid pretend make-believe and either let me go or kill me."

"I will not do either."

"I can't teach you. You're incapable of understanding. You're not made to be free; you weren't created to have captives. Just get this whole bloody farce over with."  
In reply the _gholam_ stood up and moved toward him. Mat sat there staring up at it. He no longer knew what he wanted. To live or to just get away from this whole horrible situation. It stood before him, silent and unmoving. Mat's heart beat a fast rhythm in his chest, its hazel eyes gazing into his own, expression unreadable. "Just end it."

Mat lowered his head. If it was going to kill him he didn't want to see it coming. Closing his eyes he could still feel it in front of him, could feel the warmth of it on his skin.  
Its hand slid onto his bare shoulder and rested there, warm and light. He just waited for it to snap his neck, or tear his throat out. Instead the hand just lay on his shoulder, unmoving. After what seemed like a lifetime Mat dared to open his eyes and look up at it. Its head was tilted slightly to one side, scars white and vivid on its face, still smeared with mud.

"I do not understand humans," It said softly, and its fingers gently moved over his shoulder. Mat's skin tingled with the feel of its fingertips. "Their emotions are difficult. But I do not understand myself either. I have become…confused. I do not know why you are here, alive. Why I have done this." Its gaze flicked down to the twisted scar around Mat's throat and its touch followed, stroking across the thick scar. Mat shivered, breathing shallowly. "Why I want you here after what you did." Its voice quietened. "Do you know why, Matrim Cauthon?"  
Mat shook his head dumbly. His body felt frozen to the spot, but hot at the same time. He was no longer sure if he wanted its fingers off of his neck or not. "Why do I want you? Why do I not just kill you? Everything is confused, changed."

"Just…just let me go. Then you can run off, not go back to them. Live your own life."

Its hand moved up to touch his ripped cheek, making his skin sting, and it cupped his face. "I cannot. I am bound to my orders. And they'll be looking for me." Suddenly it pulled away from him and turned its back. Mat felt cold, as if all the heat of his blood had been sucked out.

"Who? The Forsaken?"

"Yes."

"I've had them after me before." Mat rubbed his arms, aware he was bare chested and dripping wet.

"If they find me they'll order me to kill you immediately." It spoke toward the fireplace, refusing to turn.

"I've been expecting you to break my neck ever since you got out." He reached over and took the towel from by the bowl, rubbing his chest dry. "Will they track you down easily?"

"No." It began to undo its grey coat. Mat nodded to its back and rubbed his hair with the towel. The anger he had felt was burnt out, and in a strange way he was beginning to get used to being with it. Slowly he pulled his way up the bed and lent against the headboard, trying to ease his hip. He watched as it pulled off the coat and began to wash, then closed his sore and tired eyes. Right now he wanted nothing more than to sleep. After a few minutes he felt its weight settle on the bed, and he opened one bleary brown eye.

"I thought we agreed. I have the bed, you get the floor."

It smiled at him pleasantly and settled down beside him. Mat sighed, but was glad of some warmth at his side. "Do you sleep?"

"No."

"What do you do at night normally, then?"

"Harvest." It turned its head to look at him. Mat wished he hadn't asked. "I will need to do so soon."

"You're not killing people." Mat narrowed his open eye. "If you need blood we can buy some…or you can kill a pig."

"There are no pigs on ships."

"And there aren't enough sailors for you to go killing them."

"We will see." It closed its eyes.

Mat led there for a while just watching it. Looking over its deceptive body and the scars he had given it. Its hair needed a good comb, and a new pair of britches. The ones it wore were filthy. He guessed he must look the same. Slowly its hand snaked out and rested on Mat's hip. Mat felt goosepimples brake out over his skin.Its gaze fixed on him. "You will not try to run again."

"No. I won't."

It paused, the firelight dancing on its pale skin. "Are you frightened?"

"Of what?" Mat wanted to look away but found he was caught by those fiercely curious hazel eyes.

"Of me."

"Yes. Yes, you frighten me."

Mat felt its hand slide from his hip, leaving a cold spot where it had settled. "Do you want to frighten me?" He asked, and put his own hand down to where the _gholam's_ had been seconds before.

The _gholam_ turned its head and stared up at the ceiling.

"I…do not know." It rested its hands on its stomach. "Sleep now. I will wake you near dawn."

Mat turned onto his side, taking the weight off his damaged hip. His nose was near the _gholam's_ neck and he could see the firelight reflecting from its eyes. With a sigh he settled down and waited for sleep to find him. The _gholam _wasn't the only one that was confused.  
Mat was no longer sure he understood his captor at all.

* * *

**This chapter was written over five hours in the evening and late night, so please please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes.  
I really enjoyed writing that! Thanks for reading. )**


	9. Stitches

**Here's another chapter for you. What can I say? The bug caught me and I'd forgotten how much I loved writing this fic.**

**Once more, I do not own the Wheel of Time series or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat was running. His legs flew along the beaten dirt path, head whipping from side to side, trying to see what was in the trees to either side of him. Something was running with him, hidden in the darkness of the woods, following his every move. Would it attack him? Mat ran faster. He had to reach Rand, had to get to his farmhouse before whatever _it_ was tired of toying with him and burst out onto the path. Panting heavily, sweat running down his back despite the cold, Mat knew he would never get there in time. It was too fast, too quick and didn't stop. Never stopped. His lungs screamed with the need for air but he dared not slow.  
Suddenly he fell, foot caught on a tree root and he went flying. With a thud he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving, and he knew this was the end. It was bound to get him now, helpless and alone.

Boots crunched on the dirt and Mat looked up, trying to see his pursuer. But instead of coming from the trees the figure was walking along the path toward him, wrapped in a cloak the colour of dried blood. The hood hid the figure's face but Mat's broken memories stirred, and he knew he had met this man before.  
Slowly the cloak was lowered from its head and a face that would have been handsome grinned at him. Fire burned in the man's eyes and Mat knew his name. Ba'alazamon. Ishamael. But it was impossible! Ishamael was dead, killed by Rand in the Stone of Tear. He couldn't be here, not still alive.

"Found you, farmboy." Ishamael's grin widened as he approach, and Mat tried to scrabble to his feet. "No more running." A gloved hand reached out for his throat and Mat screwed up his eyes. Impossible, it was all…  
Something grabbed his shoulder from behind and he was pulled backward savagely. He skidded and landed on his back, staring up. And he heard the _gholam's_ voice in his ear.

"You are mine, Matrim Cauthon, and you will not leave me again…"

* * *

Mat's eyes flung open as something shook his shoulder. His legs were tangled up in the bed sheets and somehow he'd ended up on his back, one arm flung over his face.

"Matrim Cauthon."

Mat turned toward the voice and saw the _gholam_ sat on the bed, one hand still on his shoulder. It was still dark and the embers of the fire had still not burnt out.

"Wha…what time is it?" Mat shook his head and pulled himself up, trying to shake away his dream at the same time.

"There is someone at the door."

Mat frowned and waited in silence. Sure enough there was soft knocking, and he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"We better answer it," Mat swivelled round and put his feet down on the cold floor. Shivering, his hip still in some pain, he got up. "You'll have to unlock the door. Though who in the Light wants us at this time of night I don't know. The innkeep, maybe."

The _gholam_ slid out of bed and retrieved its grey coat. It pulled the key from its pocket and handed it to Mat. Mat guessed it knew he wouldn't be able to run far now, anyway. It stood by the washbasin and slipped on its coat, ready and waiting. It was probably expecting trouble, but Mat doubted that if the White Tower had found out where he and his companion were they would casually knock. He limped over to the door just as another knock sounded, more insistent this time. Cursing whoever had interrupted his healing, if nightmarish sleep, Mat unlocked the door and opened it slowly. He squinted in the light from the corridor and made out a youngish looking lad that he vaguely recognised from the room downstairs. "What is it?"

The lad stared at him with wide blue eyes, as if Mat were the Amyrlin or Queen of Andor, rather than just a half-awake man in britches. "What do you want?" Mat said again, annoyance creeping into his voice. He could feel the _gholam_ watching them, fully aware that it would have no hesitation in killing the boy if it felt he were trouble.

"It's you." The lad breathed. "It's really you." Before Mat had time to reply a savage grimace came to the boy's face and his hand whipped up. Mat just had chance to register that he was holding a knife when a terrible pain burned in his gut. He looked down, surprised, and saw the handle of it jutting from his stomach. Blood roared in his ears and he stumbled back. The lad moved toward him, perhaps to give it good twist, when the _gholam _hit him full on. The boy cried out as its hand latched around his neck, snarling with anger.  
Mat felt the thump of the floor as he fell. Blood was everywhere, covering his stomach. He put his hands round to try and do something, try and pull it out of himself, but everything was too wet and slick. Instead he just led there, wondering why in the bloody light some boy he didn't know went and did that.

The lad was flung across the room and landed on the bed, head striking the frame. He moaned and didn't move. Mat watched with detached awareness as the _gholam_ slammed shut the door again, twisted the key and settled down at his side.

"He…stabbed me." Mat said, surprised to find his voice so calm. In contrast the _gholam_ was not its usual smooth and unruffled self. It stared down at the knife with wide eyes, head tilting this way and that as if trying to find an angle that didn't look so terrible. "Why'd he stab me?"

The _gholam_ shook its head and put its hands to the knife. Everything was dripping with dark red blood. It gripped the handle but paused.

"If I take it out you will die."

Mat felt his lips curl in an ironic smile.

"If you don't I'll die. Either way I'm stuffed." His face contorted with pain as he shifted a little, a ripping pain running through his gut. The _gholam _shook its head again.

"No." It lowered down, eyes near the wound. Over to his side the boy moaned again and began to stir. The _gholam_ ignored him. "No dying."

It whipped up and darted over to the bed. Shoving the half conscious boy out of the way it grabbed a pillow. It tore most of the stuffing out and feathers showered everywhere. How had the damn thing lived with that barbed arrow through itself for so long? Was it in as much pain as he was now? Did it even feel pain from normal wounds? He remembered wishing that it had been in agony. He was no longer sure what he wished now, except that things would go back to straight black and white. Good and bad. All these shades of grey were too complicated. Things were much easier when he blindly hated it. It seemed like years ago that he had held it at his mercy, foxhead inside its mouth, ready to shove the silver down its throat. _Don't kill me_ it had said, and he hadn't. And that was why he was here bleeding on the floor. Because he hadn't killed a soulless inhuman murderer. A soulless inhuman murderer that was now trying to save his life. Wasn't fate ironic?

It sat down beside him and held the half-stuffed pillow in one hand. "The knife must come out." It told him, voice a little quicker than usual. "It will hurt." It grasped hold of the blood-slick handle. Mat hoped all the pain he had felt would numb this slightly.

The _gholam_ pulled and Mat screamed. It was like his body was being sliced open from the inside. There was a clatter as the knife was dropped to the floor and it pressed the pillow hard against the wound. "No dying." It repeated again, more forcefully this time. Mat gasped and choked back another cry as the wound was pressed. His vision was turning black and he heard the _gholam_ speak but couldn't make out the words. Everything was muffled and fuzzy. He felt it grip his shoulder and it leaned over him, a stubborn determination on its face. "You will not die." It growled, cutting through the haze. Weakly Mat reached up, his hand wavering next to its face. Its mouth was open slightly, teeth gritted in determination. His fingers brushed its scarred cheek, smearing it with blood.

"Don't…want to die."

The last thing he saw before he slipped out of consciousness was the _gholam_ gripping his hand, and he wondered how in the Light he was going to survive this one.

* * *

His body felt like he was rocking as he slowly became aware of the world around him. Mat opened his sore and heavy feeling eyelids and squinted at the light shining onto his face. He was tucked up in a top bunk under some rough, but warm blankets. He had been right, he was rocking. Somehow or another he'd ended up in a ships cabin.  
He gave a moan as he tried to move. His stomach still felt like it was torn open. Gingerly he lowered the blankets and looked down over his too-pale torso. The stab wound was covered with a clean dressing, so despite the vague voice of his mother telling him not to fiddle with bandages revolvingin his head, he pulled it up to look. His skin had beensewn together with small neatstitches. The wound still looked pink and tender, but it didn't seem infected. Sighing he smoothed the bandage out again and struggled to sit up, shoving the blankets off himself. To his surprise and mild disturbance, he was naked. Quickly pulling it back up, he wrapped the blanket about his waist. Looking about he was alone. Had someone found him? Had he escaped from the _gholam_? The idea was unlikely.

Suddenly there was a groan from below him. Mat frown and shifted over to look down. On the bottom bunk was the lad that had stabbed him, trussed up with rope and gagged. His wide eyes stared up at Mat, full of fear.

"What in the bloody…why are you here?"

"MMMmmuuuhhh muuuhhh muh!"

Deciding he'd get no coherent answers from him like that, Mat began to slowly move to the little wooden ladder. Ignoring the pain in his stomach he managed to climb down and get his feet safely on the ground. The boy followed him with his eyes. Mat warily reached over and unpicked the knot in the bit of ripped…it looked part of his oldbritches…material that gagged him. The boy licked his sore lips.

"Please," He spoke with a cracked voice, and Mat wondered when he had last been given something to drink. "Please let me go."

Mat narrowed his eyes. "Why should I bloody well let you go after you stuck me in the gut?"

The boy licked his lips again. "I was just…you're one of them. That he's looking for. We're supposed to kill you."

Mat's legs gave out and he stumbled to sit on the edge of the bunk. Sighing he rubbed his temples and looked about the cabin. On a chair in the corner was a pair of clean, if worn, britches and shirtsleeves, and a boots underneath.

"You're a Darkfriend, aren't you?" He leaned over to get the clothes and carefully began to dress. The boy gnawed at his lip and nodded. Light, he couldn't be more that sixteen. "So you stabbed me to please the Dark One." He sighed again. "Well, at least I'm alive." He laced up his britches and leant his chin on his palm.

"I…I thought the Great Lord would send someone to save me."

Mat snorted and smiled wryly. "And who would he send? A _gholam_?"

"_Gholam_ aren't real."

Mat shook his head disbelievingly. "So you join your Friends of the Dark club without knowing a thing about how it works. Nice move."

The boy pursed his lips. "'s not like that. I'm loyal. He'll send someone after me. Your friend can't keep me tied up forever."

"Believe me he can. If he doesn't kill you, which he might." Mat blinked. "It might. And believe me; no one's coming to save you. You're stuck here." He looked over at the door. "Where is my…friend anyway?"

"Outside." The boy shrugged as best he could. "He comes in to check you and give you water."

Mat had a momentary flash of insanity when he wondered if he could get above deck and swim to safety. Then he remembered the _gholam's_ hissed threat of losing his arm if he ran. His stomach gave an unpleasant twist as he thought of it on top of him, so close he could see every detail of its face. He had come far too close to it killing him, then. No, better to run when he was sure it couldn't catch him. Whenever that may be.He pulled himself to his feet and tested his hip's strength as he walked. Surprisingly it was much better.

"How long have I been out?" He asked as he reached the door. The darkfriend thought about it for a moment.

"Four days this morning. You bled everywhere. I think he thought you were going to die." The lad sounded disappointed that Mat hadn't. Silently cursing him Mat twisted the knob, fully expecting the door to be locked. To his surpriseit swung open to some stairs leading up to the deck. Mindful of his limitations Mat began the assent into bright, clear sunlight. He took in a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be outside again after the Tower, the tavern and the cabin with a darkfriend. He stepped up onto the deck and looked about for the _gholam_. Not seeing it but catching sight of one of the sailors from the tavern, he went toward him. The sailor was on his way up the rigging so Mat quickly called out before he got out of hearing.

"Mate?"

The sailor turned, saw him and grinned. He slid his way back down and crossed his arms.

"You're awake then. Thought you were gonna die a few days ago, you lost so much blood. Lucky for you he was a bad aim. Missed anything vital." He gave Mat a glance up and down. "You look better though."

"Thanks. Look, I've been out the whole time. What exactly happened?" He shifted and shoved his hands in his pockets. The sailor's grin faded.

"Your mate had cleaned and stitched you up best he could and came knockin' on Tomas' door. Told him about that boy sticking you. Said you both needed to get out of Tar Valon before the guy who sent the boy after you sends someone more experienced. You should pay your debts, mate." He gave Mat's arm a light punch and Mat gave the most roguish smile he could manage. "So Thomas told the Cap'n what had gone on and let the three of you on board. He doesn't hold with assassins."

Mat felt a slight grudging admiration at the _gholam's_ resourcefulness.

"The lad said I'd been out four days."

"That's right. Out cold. Dunno why your mate didn't stick him, though."

"How far down the river are we?"

"Just approaching Aringil."

Aringil. Aringil was across the river from Caemlyn. Walkable distance. Rand might be in Caemlyn. Or at least people who knew him. People with men behind them. Men that could subdue the _gholam_. This could be the way out.

Mat nodded and gave him a smile. "Where's th…Eben?"

The sailor jerked his head toward the prow of the ship and began climbing up again. Mat turned and made his way over the deck, nodding and smiling to people he passed. As he approached the prow he saw the _gholam_ leaning against the rail, looking out across the river. He stopped far enough away so it wouldn't notice him and looked on silently. Its eyes were fixed ahead, hair blown back from its face by the wind.

For a while Mat just stood there watching it, wondering what it was thinking, if anything, or if it just wanted to feel the breeze.

It had saved his life. Gone against everything it had been made to do. Only, of course so that it could be the one that decided when and how he died. No. No matter how human it appeared or acted the _gholam_ was one thing and one thing only. A cruel murderer. But one that had, for some odd reason, not killed the darkfriend in the cabin.

Slowly the _gholam_ turned to face him. From its expression Mat guessed it had known he was there. He approached it with his thumbs tucked in the waistband of his britches. "So…" He stopped a few feet away from it. "I'm not dead."

It lent back on the rail and looked him up and down. "No."

"You stitched me up."

"Yes."

Mat moved over to stand beside it and looked out across the river. "So…where are we headed?" The _gholam_ turned its head to look at him, hair whipping about its face.

"I do not know. I was waiting for you to wake."

"We ought to work out where we're going. Get into a big city, somewhere more darkfriends can't catch up with me. Or you." He glanced at it but it had that neutral unreadable expression on. "Depends. You want to learn more about freedom and humans…city's the place to do it."

"Is there one near?"

"Yes. Caemlyn, the main city of Andor. Maybe…a few days walk from here." To his side the _gholam_ blinked slowly then nodded. Mat inwardly cheered. At least this way he had a chance of getting away. "Why'd you keep the boy? I would have thought you'd kill him."

It tilted its head at him. "I cannot harvest Friends of the Dark. That is one of my orders."

"I see." Mat wondered if the boy knew just how lucky he was.

"You will have to kill him." It told him calmly. Mat stared at it, horrified.

"What? Why?"

"I cannot. If we release him he will tell them where we are."

Mat's shoulders slumped. He knew he couldn't be the boy's executioner, but on the other hand he couldn't have a darkfriend telling whoever might be hunting them as to where they had gone to.

"You should know by now that I won't just murder someone."

"He tried to kill you."

"That's not the bloody point!" Mat pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration and kicked the rails with his boot. "What do we do?"

"Perhaps I could throw him in the river. That is not directly killing him."

"You're not throwing him in the bloody river. Look…maybe if we just talk to him then he'll come round or…something." Mat wrung his hands and looked up at it. It looked back silently. Just how he intended to stop the _gholam_ from throwing the boy in the river was a matter he'd deal with if needed. "You've met darkfriends. Haven't some seen the light and gone back?"

Its brow furrowed slightly. "I remember little of them. I was sent once to…a big city. Flying metal things in the sky. Tall buildings that seemed to touch the clouds. There was a Dreadlord. He was not loyal. He turned back." Its eyes had drifted off as it tried to collect its dull memories. "He ran when he had to kill, so I was sent."

Mat shivered and rubbed his arms. Chances were that as the boy had stabbed him, and has truly intended to kill him, it was unlikely he would turn back to the light,

"So what do we do?" He asked, and the _gholam_ frowned more deeply in thought. "Maybe the captain would let him stay trussed up on board until Tear? Then just let him go."

The _gholam_ turned away without replying and began to walk back down the deck. Mat went after it. "Well, what do you think?"

"What way is the city?"

"Caemlyn? Err.." Mat tried to orientate himself. "West of here, so…that way." He pointed. "Why?"  
The _gholam_ only continued to walk. Mat hurried to keep up. "What are you doing? Where are you going?" He reached out and caught its elbow. It stopped and turned.

"This way?" It pointed west, off toward the bank of the river. Mat nodded.

"Yes. Look, this doesn't help our problem with the boy."

"Take off your boots."

"What?" Mat stared at it. What did it want him to do, dance?

"Take off your boots."

"But why?"

"They will pull you down." It stood there waiting. Mat frowned with confusion.

"Pull me do…" Realisation dawned. "No. Nonono. No." He backed away. "There is no way I'm-" The _gholam_ darted forward and grasped hold of him. Mat struggled helplessly in its iron grasp. "Put me bloody well _down_!" He hissed, kicking at it. He was slung unceremoniously across the _gholam's_ shoulders and felt it tug at his boots. "Are you insane? We can't swim that, it's too far to the bank!" A boot dropped off.

"No." It replied. "It is not. No one will see us. No one will know where we went."

"And the boy? What about him?" The other boot was gone.

"He will live for now."

"Light burn you bloody shadowspawn! I'm not doing this!" Mat watched on as it climbed the wood and sat with its legs dangling over the side. "You hear me…oh Light." Mat gripped hold of it as tight as he could and sucked in a deep breath.  
The _gholam_ lent forward.

"Do not let go." It told him, just before slipping from its seat and into the cold deep water of the River Erinin.


	10. Heartbeats

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat lay sprawled on his back; one eye shut the other only partly open. Stark white blindness filled his vision as agony ripped through his stomach. His hands were tight fists, nails digging into his palm and cutting little half-moon digs into the skin. In his mind he was trying desperately to control the pain, trying to stop himself screaming aloud. He had no idea where the _gholam_ was and at this point cared very little. From the outside the stab wound may have looked neat and tidy, but inside he was still badly damaged. The bloody thing seemed to think he was able to close and seal his injuries like it could. His mind had forced his body to move, but in reality he should have stayed in bed. Just like Nalesean, he thought sadly.

It had pulled him across the river towards the west bank with dogged determination. Mat was fighting both drowning and the current, every moment fighting to keep hold of its arm, and it to keep its grip on his. It had underestimated the pull of the water.

Mat's every movement sent pain, his body trying desperately to tell him that he was in no condition to go swimming about in a cold river.

After what had seemed like hours he gave up fighting and kicking the water, only keeping his hold on the _gholam's_ arm. At least if he were drowned the pain would stop. The _gholam_ had only fought harder toward the bank, dragging him along in its wake. The world became a rushing whiteness of pain and cold, and Mat had lost all thought of what was going on around him. He had vaguely felt ground under his back but it meant little to him.

All in all, he had had just about enough.

Something warm touched his cheek and he moved his head into it. His skin was so cold and his clothes clung to him like a layer of ice.

"Matrim Cauthon."

Mat attempted to open his eyes but his body refused to obey. Instead he managed to part his lips slightly and moan. "You are hurt." The warmth from his cheek pulled away and he felt his shirt being pushed up. After a pause the warmth touched the skin of his stomach. He began to shiver, first a little then uncontrollably. Another patch of warmth settled on his neck, just over his artery. "Do not go to sleep."

Mat moaned again and coughed. Water spluttered out from between his lips. Blinking slowly he tried to sit up as the pain began to subside. Blinking rapidly, he looked up through the foggy haze in his eyes and saw the now familiar face of the _gholam_ over his own.

"I hate you."

Its lips twitched up slightly and slipped its hands under his shoulders, helping him up. "I nearly died again." He coughed more water up as he managed to get his weight on his backside. The _gholam_ sat down beside him, its wet hair dripping steadily.

"I feel cold." It commented, and looked at Mat as if he would supply the answer. Mat drew his knees up to his chest.

"Don't look at me. All my things are gone. What do you normally do when you get cold?" Mat's usual attempt at distant disregard or sarcastic humour was failing. He couldn't fool himself. He was badly hurt.

"Nothing. But I have this." It unbuttoned one of its coat pockets and pulled out a tinderbox. Mat managed a small smile.

"That'll do for a fire. Know how to make one?"

It nodded and pushed itself up and offered its hand to him. He took it and it helped him to his feet. Testing his shaky legs Mat took a couple of steps. Hoping he wouldn't fall down straight away at least, and fighting a moaning agony, he followed it away from the muddy bank and across the grassy plain. The _gholam_ motioned its hand toward a small wood a mile ahead. Mat looked up and gave it a nod. "Let's camp there for a bit." He grimaced and grit his teeth. "Not that we have any food or water. Let's hope there are some farmhouses between here and Caemlyn."

"I need to feed."

"I told you. We'll find some pigs or…something."

"Matrim Cauthon," It spoke in that soft dangerous voice that Mat knew he did not have the energy to argue against. "That was not a question. I _must_ feed soon." He looked into its face and for the first time realised just how pale and washed out it looked. The running and swimming had taken its toll.

"When was the last time?" He asked quietly.

"A long time. Too long. I tire."

That grudging admiration came back. Mat pushed some hair out of his eyes, hoping that would help his eyes focus. It didn't.

"You did well to swim so far."

It looked at him silently, head tilted. "That was a compliment." Mat added, and it blinked slowly.

"I was made to keep going until I fall."

"We'll find something. There's bound to be...I don't know, a horse." He looked about, hoping desperately that they'd come across an animal before a human. He doubted he could stop it if they crossed an unfortunate farmer. "How long can you go?"

"A while, but not much more, now."

"Like a snake…" Mat mused. "They can go for ages too. Cold blood." His foot caught on a stone and his ankle twisted. Tripping he managed to right himself. His body was winning over his mind, demanding he stop an allow himself to heal. "I can't walk much further."

The _gholam_ regarded him then slipped its arm around him, taking most of his weight. Some of the pain from the stab wound subsided, but both he and it were deluded if they thought he could walk to Caemlyn. At least not for a good week. Was Rand even in Caemlyn? Mat was no longer sure.

The torturous stumble across the open land to the edge of the woods became a blur, his awareness phasing in and out. At one point he thought he heard the _gholam_ mention rabbits, but his brain rejected it as inconsequential and stopped taking the energy to process it. After that he felt his feet leave the ground and he had an odd floating sensation. The ground passed by as a blur. He found his cheek pressed up against the _gholam's_ grey coat, its chest hard against him. He was glad of something firm. His body felt like it was threatening him with going completely limp.

Something thudded deeply in his ear, and for a second he wondered if he had lost his hearing. Frowning he went to attempt to shake his head when it happened again. It was as if someone was beating a drum next to his head from somewhere behind the _gholam's_ body. The rhythmic resonance thudded again and he closed his eyes, trying to place what it was. It was slow, perhaps beating only once every five seconds, but regular. Then he realised. The noise wasn't coming from behind the _gholam_ at all, but from inside of it. He could hear its dull, slow heartbeat. Mat's weary frown deepened. Why would a _gholam_, a creature with no blood to pump, have a heart? And a beating one at that. He nestled his ear deeper into the fabric, straining to listen. At least he had something other than pain to think on.

Like his own, the _gholam's_ heartbeat was not one thud but two. It was the distinct _dum-dum dum-dum_ that he associated with lazy mornings in bed. If it had been human it would not be alive. The beat was just too slow. None of it made sense.

Content for the moment to pin his remaining strongest sense on the steady heartbeat Mat let the time pass him by, closing his eyes. The light shining through his eyelids dimmed as the _gholam_ approached the trees, their height blocking the sun. It bent down and laid him carefully down on the ground. Mat was glad of something stable and let his body relax. He felt it smooth his damp hair back from his face.

"I will find some wood." It told him. He heard it move away. Mat drifted into a haze of sleep as he waited, his body exhausted. His consciousness happily slipped away from him, the imagined the drumming of a heartbeat resonating in his mind.

* * *

Mat awoke to the smell of roasting rabbit in his nostrils, and a cosy warm feeling around his body. His stab-wound ached and throbbed somewhere in the distance, but there was nothing like the agony he had been in before. The pain reminded him a little of his broken leg on a damp day. Ignorable, at least.

He opened his eyes and looked down over himself. He was in his clothes, now dry and soft against his skin, and a familiar grey coat was tucked under his chin. His feet were missing their boots, but thankfully he had worn pleasantly thick socks before this…escapade had begun.

The _gholam_ sat bare-chested by a merrily burning fire, turning the decidedly tasty looking carcass of a skinned and gutted rabbit over the flames. The rabbit had been speared with a twig that was beginning to get rather black. The _gholam_ looked up at him and tilted its head. It had long since grown dark and the fire made odd shadows dance over its face; first highlighting then hiding its scars. Mat gave a cough to clear his throat then raised his head.

"That for me or you?"

Its eyes glanced down at the rabbit and it gave a twitch of a smile.

"Both. But I have had my share. You seemed to be waking, so I began to burn it."

Mat rolled over carefully and got himself sat up. His stomach growled hungrily, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for days. He picked up the coat and placed it down by the _gholam's_ side. "Thanks for the blanket."

It nodded and pulled the rabbit free of the flames. It passed it to him and he took the twig, wincing a little at the heat but too hungry to care much. The _gholam_ brushed its hands and shrugged its coat back on.

"I think it is…cooked through."

Mat gave the rabbit a grin and bit into it, immediately gasping for air as it burnt his mouth. Chewing anyway, juice dribbling down his chin, Mat turned his grin back up to the _gholam_.

"Oo 'ould ee a 'ook."

The _gholam_ blinked slowly in confusion. Mat swallowed the meat and gave a satisfied sigh. It was delicious. "I said, you should be a cook."

"It is good?"

"Very." To prove his point Mat took another bite. He devoured the rabbit as the _gholam_ watched him, seemingly fascinated. Mat had ceased to be bothered by its hazel eyes constantly on him. In a strange way he was beginning to get used to the odd quirks of his inhuman captor, and despite the fact that he wouldn't be here if not for its actions, he was grateful that it had not just left him to spill his blood out on that tavern floor. _Count your blessings_ his Mam had used to say, and so he did. At least while it was interested in him it wasn't pulling him limb from limb.  
Soon there was nothing left of the rabbit but bones. Mat wiped his greasy mouth with his hand and threw the bones into the fire. "You went hunting, then."

"Yes. It did not supply much blood or meat, but enough to sustain us for a while, perhaps." It nodded its head to Mat's feet. "Your boots are still wet." Sure enough there his trusty boots were, drying by the fire. Mat sincerely hoped they would be alright for the morning. He had walked in wet boots before and had no wish to repeat the experience.

"Are we far from the road?"

"No. It is just past these trees." It went to point in the direction of the road but suddenly winced, face drawn in pain. It clutched its stomach, teeth bared in a snarl. Mat stared. The _gholam_ never showed pain unless it was burnt. Perhaps it was very hungry.

"Are you alright?" Mat reached out without thinking and put a hand on its arm. It glanced up at him, confusion clear in its eyes.

"I…hurt. Not like the silver thing. Different." It winced again. "My…" It tapped its stomach. "Insides."

"Maybe you're hungry?" Mat took his hand back and rubbed his chin nervously, surprised to find a good growth of stubble there. He would have to shave.

It shook its head. "No. It is…" Its eyes suddenly flung wide open and its throat convulsed. It put a scarred hand over its mouth. Mat clicked. Too often had he or one of his friends drunk too much ale and found themselves in an alley at night, on their knees, chucking their guts up. The _gholam_ gave a shudder and its throat bobbed again.

"You're going to sick up," Mat said hurriedly. "Bend over and get it out."

The _gholam_ shook its head disbelievingly. Mat pulled himself up and took hold of its arm, pulling it away from its pursed lips. "Do as I bloody say!"

The _gholam_ twisted its neck and heaved with an awful chocking sound, throwing up something dark into the grass and leaf litter. Mat rubbed its back, keeping a hand on its shoulder. It retched again, not done. Mat frowned. Should _gholam_ sick up? It certainly seemed to have no idea that it could.  
Dark redness stained the earth. Mat figured that it had now lost whatever blood it had gained from the rabbit. Maybe rabbit blood didn't suit its palate. He found himself again wondering about its inner workings. If it threw up that suggested a stomach, and he was sure that had been a heartbeat he had heard through the haze of pain.

The _gholam_ turned its head to look at him over its shoulder. It was shaking. "Wine." It said faintly. "Wine is bad."

Mat smiled sympathetically. So that was the problem. His wish for the wine to kill it had not been fulfilled, but it seemed that alcohol and _gholam_ did not mix, even if it took a while. He patted its back. "Best stay off the stuff. Doesn't like your…gholamy workings."

The _gholam_ nodded its agreement faintly, lips parted. It wiped its mouth and managed to straighten up again. Mat backed away and sat back down, tucking his legs under himself. "Didn't they warn you not to take in anything but blood?"

It wrapped its arms about itself and looked at him through the flames.

"The Great Master did."

Mat raised his eyebrows and gave it a wry grin. "Then why drink the stuff?"

"I wished to taste it."

"You're bloody stubborn, you are." Mat gave a soft laugh. "Just like me when I was a boy. '_Don't you dare climb that tree, Matrim Cauthon!_' my Mam used to say. And what did I do? Climb the tree, be too heavy for a branch and fall on my arse." His smile faded.

'_You are more important than them, Mat. Don't do anything that will get you killed. I need you. Stay away from it_.'

_Sorry, Rand._  
Colours exploded in his head as he thought of his best friend, as they always did. He had long given up wondering why. Some quirk of _ta'veren_ perhaps. He just prayed Rand was in Caemlyn, with enough men to subdue the _gholam_. If not…Mat was not a stupid man. He knew that the war against the shadow was linked to his own life, as well as Rand and Perrin's. If he was killed…

The _gholam_ blinked slowly, regarding him. It let go of itself and reached out with one hand toward his knee, but stopped short, letting its palm rest on the ground.

"In some ways, Matrim Cauthon, we are very similar."

Mat moved his eyes back to its face. The face of an ordinary man in the early twenties, hair ruffled by the wind. Mat's lips twitched into a small smile.

"Yes. In some ways, we are."

* * *

Rand al'Thor stared up at the ceiling of his bedchamber, grey eyes blank. His body was lain in the large bed, legs tangled around the sheets. But in his mind he was back at home. Back in Emond's field, climbing Cenn Buie's apple trees with Mat. Ignoring the strange colours that formed when he thought of Mat or Perrin was easier now. Practice makes perfect.

Better to think of the past when sleep was a long time coming, or there was a danger Lews Therin might start his mad ravings. Better to be Rand al'Thor than the Dragon Reborn for a while, at least.

The nights always crawled. Each second drawn out as he waited for the morning. Rand sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. He twisted and sat up; letting his feet touch the cold stone of the floor. For a moment he just sat there and wondered what to do. Whether to get up or not, and if he did get up, what to do.

He reached over and took hold of his britches. He pulled them on and stood up, lacing them up. Not bothering with boots or shirt sleeves he padded over to the door and pulled it open. He knew the Maidens would be outside, and would follow him silently, but he had long since taught himself to ignore them when needed. He walked though and began the dark quiet walk along the hall, sensing a few of the Aiel women follow him. He had no aim, so instead he wandered, trying to let his mind go blank. Somewhere in the background Lews Therin chuckled softly. Rand ignored him.

Night time was always the worst.

A sudden sound of shouting shocked him into turning around. He was painfully aware that he didn't have his sword. He still had hold of _saidin_, the sickness and blinding pain that came with taking hold or letting go still drove him to almost constantly have hold of it. The Maidens that had shadowed him now came closer, also a little thrown by this new turn of events.

"What's going on?" Rand growled, clenching a fist. The Maiden nearest to him shook her head. Then he heard quite clearly from back along the hall

"Where is he? Where is Rand al'Thor!"

A melodious female voice, sounding both a little frightened and furious. What in the Light…Rand started running back, pushing past protesting Aiel and toward the voice. For someone to be here shouting like that there had to be something wrong. With Lews Therin laughing manically in his thoughts he turned the corner and saw her; a tall, willowy Aes Sedai he recognised from when he had last seen Egwene. Mari something? Her eyes fell on him and she rushed to meet him, face determined. Rand pulled up short and put a hand on her shoulder. Not bothering with formalities he got to the point.

"What's wrong? What's happened?"

Rand watched as varying emotions flitted over her face until it settled on shear hopelessness. "Tell me!"

She gripped his bare arm. The red and gold dragon gave an extra throb of pain, but with _saidin_ Rand hardly felt it.

"The White Tower…the _gholam_ got out. Five days ago."

Rand knew he should feel something. Fear perhaps, or anger at Mat's stubbornness not to kill it when he had had the chance. But there was nothing save colours swirling in his mind

"How many dead?"

"Twelve. Sisters, warders and guards."

"Why in the Light wasn't I told sooner!" Rand shouted, knowing he shouldn't take it out on her, but fury overrode his sense.

"The whole Tower was emptied. We've been trying to find it in Tar Valon somewhere; we hoped we could recapture it."

"Recapture it? Are you mad?" Lews Therin laughed harder at that. "Only Mat's medallion can hurt it."

"The Mother has the medallion." She told him, and let go of his arm, wringing her hands.

"Why? Why doesn't Mat have it?"

She paused. "Lord Dragon…Mat Cauthon is gone. When it got out, he and I went to get the Mother, but it was in her office. Waiting. It demanded that he give up the medallion and it would let her and I go. Last we saw, Mat was in there with it. The Mother has his medallion now."

Rand stared at her disbelievingly. "Where's Mat?"

"We don't know. With the _gholam_. We didn't…we haven't found a body."

Rand stood there in silence. Disbelief, sorrow then anger washed over him. He clenched his jaw and glared down at her, then along the rows of stunned faces. If Mat was dead…

"I want him found, do you hear me?" His fists clenched. "And I want that _gholam_ dead. This should have been finished in Ebou Dar!" He whirled around and strode into his bedchambers. So much for waiting till morning for a distraction. As he pulled on his shirtsleeves he heard the Aes Sedai step in behind him.

"Lord Dragon…what do I tell the Mother?"

Rand turned, grey eyes cold. "Tell her to find Mat. And if that filthy shadowspawn is caught, to ram the medallion down its throat." Rand pulled on his coat. He would have to have people warned, Elayne, Logain. The _gholam_ wasn't likely to be coming here, at least.  
Very few people knew that he was in Tear.


	11. The saviour

**Bit of an interlude here, so it's a shorter chapter.  
Thanks to Mischa Kitsune for the pointer on my terrible grammar with led and laid etc. Always had trouble with them. All corrected now. Thank you kindly. **

**Disclaimer:I do not own the Wheel of Time series or its characters. Property of Robert Jordan etc etc

* * *

**

Nerim sobbed into the hard wooden floor, his tears wetting the entire left side of his face. He was bound tightly to a chair and the rope dug mercilessly into his skin. When the ship had docked at Tear the awful tattooed first mate had come in and knocked him over, assuring him they would deal with his 'murdering arse' later. Nerim didn't understand. The tall man with the brown hair and eyes, who his Masters wanted dead, had survived his attack. He wasn't a murderer! He gave another racking sob. He didn't want to die! If only the flaming man had got on and bled to death, or if he had hit something vital, then he wouldn't be here. But then there would still have been the other man in the grey coat; the tall man's bodyguard, or companion or pillowfriend. He shuddered. The strength of him…He had never been hit that hard before.

He didn't want to go to Tear! He lived in Tar Valon. How was he going to get home? Would his Masters find out about his failure? He sobbed again and tried to wriggle free. The chair shifted with him. Once the two men had disappeared, Nerim hoped they had both fallen off the boat and drowned; he had had a chance to get away. But the creepy man who had been so furious at him had roped him up so tight. Then the first mate had decided to tie him to a chair as far below deck as possible.  
The sailors seemed to think he was some sort of assassin! Not for the first time Nerim wished he really was one. A Gray Man. Able to slip away without notice. He wasn't stupid. He knew that no one would be coming to save him. The Great Lord showed no mercy to failures. Especially those that couldn't even slaughter one of the most important fighters for the Light.

He heard stairs creak outside the door as someone descended. He felt sick. It was them coming to kill him. They were going to slit his throat! He panted against the damp wood, eyes wide. He could only see the bottom part of the doorway. He wouldn't see if they had a knife. He wouldn't see it coming! Tears trickled down his face as the door swung open. Someone entered wearing black boots that reached the thigh over soft black breeches. The door closed behind the legs and whoever it was stopped and leant against it.

"Nerim Copan," The voice was deep and rich with a mildly amused tone behind it. It was the type of voice Nerim wanted to have when he reached maturity. He tried to look up further but his neck wouldn't allow it. This was certainly not one of the sailors. "There you are."

"Who…who are you?" He choked out, voice hitching in his throat from his tears.

"Your saviour, it seems. You've managed to get yourself in a fine mess."

Nerim's heart leapt with hope. "Please. They're going to kill me. Untie me!"

"Patience." The man laughed and pressed one booted leg down on the chair. It creaked as it turned over so Nerim was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "There. A little better."

Nerim turned his head to see his so-called saviour, if at a twisted angle. By the voice he had been expecting someone in his late thirties at least, but this oddly tall, broad shouldered fellow couldn't have been much more than twenty. Sure enough he was older than Nerim, but still.  
The man bent down on his haunches, smiling pleasantly at Nerim. He had the most startling blue eyes Nerim had ever seen, made all the more stark by night-black hair. Certainly not the type of saviour Nerim would have chosen. He would have a burly man with a big axe.

"Please, just let me go!"

"How did you get here?" The fellow asked, leaning in see his face. "Not often that a real Friend of the Dark gets caught."

Nerim's throat bobbed as he tried to work out what best to say. He didn't know who had sent this man. Those blue eyes twinkled as his smile widened. "Don't worry. I know all about you. The oaths you took."

Nerim sighed with relief. "I was kidnapped by two men." He tried to lean forward to get across the importance of what he was saying. He didn't know how well informed this other Friend of the Dark was. "One of them was the brown eyed man. The General. The one who's friends with the Dragon Reborn."

The blue-eyed man's lips pursed in thought. "Matrim Cauthon. Go on."

"I stabbed him! I thought he was dead for sure. But his friend attacked me and knocked me out. I woke up tied in a cabin with them. His friend threatened me. Said he'd rip my legs off!"

All trace of amusement was gone from the fellow's expression. He lent over and put a hand to either side of Nerim's head, noses only a few inches apart.

"Was it the _gholam_?" He asked softly.

"_Gholam_ aren't real." Nerim said automatically. The fellow gave an annoyed growl.

"Yes they are, and one is loose from the White Tower. Are you completely ignorant of events in your own city?"

Nerim gaped at him, things clicking into place. The scared man's strength, odd way of speaking, fluid movements.

"_I…I thought the Great Lord would send someone to save me."  
The General snorted. "And who would he send? A gholam?"  
_"_Gholam aren't real."  
The General shook his head disbelievingly. "So you join your Friends of the Dark club without knowing a thing about how it works. Nice move."_

"Oh Light…That was a flaming _gholam_…"

"Was it strong? Fast? Drink blood? Should have had brown hair and eyes." The man seemed more interested in one of the Dark's own creation that the fact he'd stabbed one of their main adversaries!

"I didn't see it drink blood. It had a scar on its cheek. Shaped like something, not sure what."

The fellow nodded to himself. "You say you stabbed Cauthon?"

Nerim nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. But the _gholam_ stitched him up." He frowned. "Why'd it do that if it's on our side?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "That is a very good question…" He chewed for a moment on his bottom lip then looked back at him. "Where are they now?"

"I don't know. We were almost at Aringil when they disappeared. The first mate was furious."

The man stood up and tapped his boot on the floor, seemingly thinking. "What's it playing at? _Gholam_ never do this. Draw it out that long. They certainly never help…" He sighed and looked down again. Nerim stared up with wide eyes.

"Please, untie me now?"

The man waved his hand absently and the ropes digging into Nerim suddenly disintegrated to ash. Nerim didn't move. The fellow could channel… Slowly he pulled himself up, wiping his face free of tears and grime. He looked up into the man's distant face. If he was a channeler…Nerim couldn't help but feel proud. The Chosen, or even the Great Lord himself, had sent a _Dreadlord_ to rescue him. Feeling both grateful and bold he put a hand on the man's arm.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving me."

The fellow looked down at him and Nerim jumped. Eyes that had before been so blue were streaked with black. Or rather… He watched as little black dots travelled across the man's eyes. He had never seen anything like it before and wondered if it was a sign from the Great Lord. "They would have killed me."

The man glanced at his hand on his arm and his lip quirked in amusement again. "You've been very useful."

"Maybe I can continue to be. Are you on a mission to talk to the _gholam_, or something?" He took back his hand. The fellow stood a good foot taller than him and was obviously important, but he liked him now that he'd saved his life.

"Something like that." Those lips curved into a smile. "Yes, Nerim. I think you can continue to be useful."

Nerim beamed with happiness and pride. "Good! What…what do I call you?"

The man gave another small wave of the hand and a gateway opened in front of him. Nerim gaped in wonder. He had seen an Aes Sedai do that once, but not close up like this. On the other side of the gateway was the countryside. He could see a city in the distance.

"For now, you may call me Moridin." Moridin gave Nerim slight tap on the shoulder. "Go through. We have work to do."

Nerim thought it was an odd, but pleasant, sounding name. Taking a deep breath he stepped forward through the gateway and onto the wet grass.


	12. Origins

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

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**

The _gholam_ put a steadying hand on Mat's arm as he stumbled over a stone. Cursing, Mat managed to catch his balance. Night was falling, and the light was failing, making the rough road difficult to see. He nodded in thanks and it took back its hand.

"We should find somewhere to rest." He said, and it didn't argue. Looking at it he again wondered how much longer it was going to manage. The _gholam_ looked terrible. Its skin had paled to sickly greyish tone and it no longer walked in that smooth fluid way it had. Instead its head hung, and Mat had to steady it as often as it did him. Nibbling his lip Mat wondered what could be done. They had been passing people on the road. Not many, but a few. Luckily for him one had been a man with a cart who had taken pity on him and sold him a pack with some food, water and well needed razor. Thankfully the _gholam_ had had some coppers stashed in one of its pockets. That had sorted out Mat, and although his wound still twinged he felt pretty much back to normal. It had been a week now since he had been stabbed, and the past three days they had travelled slowly, content to cover only a few miles each day. His body was healing up now he had rested it.  
However, the _gholam_ was still flagging. Mat had told it that if it went killing people on the road then someone, be it Aes Sedai or a Darkfriend, would work out where they were. So their only option was to wait until they passed an animal.

Mat wasn't sure how far away they were from Caemlyn, as he didn't know the distance between Aringil and the city. The last person they had passed had said it was two days walk away, but their pace was much slower than normal. The _gholam_ was speaking even less than usual, so instead Mat spoke as they walked, telling it about the things he'd seen and done over the past couple of years. About home, how he had ended up where he was now. In a way Mat felt better for talking about it. He felt like he'd got some it off his chest. The _gholam_ always listened with interest, head tilted, occasionally asking a question or adding in its own comments. When Mat had told it about meeting 'Lord Gaebril', otherwise known as Rahvin, it had told him about the Forsaken when he had been alive. Apparently he had been one of the Forsaken that the _gholam_ had preferred to work for. Although Rahvin had always made sure it couldn't manipulate its orders, he had understood that _gholam_ shouldn't be ordered about like Trollocs.

Mat looked along the road ahead, hoping to see some trees or bushes that they could use for cover during the night. To his surpise there were lights ahead, and he squinted to make out the shape of a smallish house with an outbuilding and barn next to it.

"There's a farm up ahead." He said to it, and it looked up. "Maybe you'll find something to eat there."

The _gholam_ licked its lips.

"Wait here." It told him and went to move off of the road toward the back of the farm. Mat caught its sleeve, a plan forming.

"I've got a better idea." He could see it was impatient, but would at least hear him out. The _gholam _cocked its head as a sign to continue. "Let me go and knock on their door, see if we can spend the night in their barn. It'll be a better nights rest for me and I can get my head down without finding worms in my hair in the morning. When it's fully dark, you can go and have your meal while I keep an eye out. We'll get rid of the body and be away in the morning. From here it's probably only another days walk, once you're alright again."

The _gholam _considered, blinking slowly. Mat held his breath, heart hammering. With some luck the farmer would think they'd stolen the animal and go after them, or report it. And Mat wanted nothing more than some soldiers or guards to turn up.  
It finally nodded and Mat let it go, trying not tosighin relief. "Come on then. I'll do the talking."

They made their way to the farmhouse, the _gholam_ had sped up slightly, obviously eager to get fed. Mat kept in front of it as they approached the front door. The house was small, but well kept, and Mat could hear the shouts of children from inside. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and waited. It was opened after a couple of moments by a shortish man with a friendly smile. Mat immediately liked him.

"How can I help you, stranger?"

Mat nodded his head and motioned to the sickly looking _gholam_ behind him.

"Sorry to bother you, but Eben and I are on our way to Caemlyn. He's managed to catch himself a cold and isn't feeling up to spending the night on the side of the road. We wondered if we could possibly sleep in your barn in return for some coppers?"

The man leaned over to look at the _gholam_, who, without even trying, seemed like it was about to collapse.

"What's going on?" A women pushed next to the fellow and gave them both the once over. She bore such a striking facial resemblance to Nyneave that Mat had to try not to laugh, although her eyes were blue and her hair a light brown. She saw the _gholam_ and her expression softened. "You alright?"

"They want to stay in the barn." The man told her, and she pursed her lips.

"He's not got anything contagious has he?" She asked Mat, and he shook his head.

"No ma'am, just a common cold. All he needs is a rest and some warmth."

The man and woman looked at each other, silently exchanging glances. The man nodded and turned back to them.

"Alright. Let me go and unlock it for you." His disappeared inside, presumably to get the key. Mat smiled thankfully at the women.

"This is very good of you. Please, let us pay your for your troubles."

The woman shook her head and waved her hand, smiling. "No. You put no trouble on us. No one is in the barn except the horses."

Mat felt bad, he knew they'd be missing an animal in the morning. He made a silent vow to himself that if he survived all of this he'd return and pay them back.  
A small boy no higher than Mat's hip came to the door way and tugged his mothers skirt. "Mammy…"

The woman smiled and bent down, picking him up. The boy stared at Mat and poked his tongue out.

Mat chuckled and the women tutted. "Be nice to the man, Raab." The boy grinned mischievously and turned his gaze on the _gholam_. His mouth popped open in surprise and pulled on his mam's ear.

"Mammy! That man has a big scar!"

The _gholam _blinked and touched its cheek. The woman gave the boys bum a light tap. "Don't be rude!"

The man came back and the woman went back inside, the carried boy still staring at the _gholam_ until she turned out of sight. The fellow smiled and stepped past Mat, holding keys and a lamp.

"This way." He led them over to the barn doors and unlocked them. Mat helped him pull them open and the three went inside. Two draft horses looked up in interest from stables at the back and neighed softly. "There's some hay in the loft. Just sleep up there or pull some down. All we ask is that you keep it tidy." _And not eat our horses,_ Mat added in his head. "There's the cow out behind the barn, so if you hear her moo you know what it is." He handed the lamp over to Mat. As he did so Mat saw the _gholam_ over the man's shoulder, eyes narrowed, gazing at the fellow's back. It was probably a good idea to get him out of the barn as quickly as possible.

"Thanks very much. We're very grateful. We'll be out of your way by morning."

The man nodded and walked out, the _gholam's_ eyes following him. He shut the doors, leaving them with just the light of the lamp. Mat sighed with relief and plonked down on the ground, putting the lamp next to him and pulling off his pack. The _gholam_ approached him and looked down.

"I need blood."

Mat motioned for it to sit beside him. It padded over and did so, knees bent. Mat swivelled around and lent his back against its side. He looked at it over his shoulder.

"You'll get it. Just wait for dark then you can go out and…drink the cow. Killing the horses is a bad idea. They might scream and wake the family up in the house."

Again, it did not reply, so Mat assumed it agreed. He sighed and leaned his head back, letting it rest on the _gholam's_ shoulder. He closed his eyes, enjoying the rest. The _gholam _made no objection to him using it as a leaning post. "The other _gholam_," Mat asked. "What were they like?"

He could imagine the look of concentration its face, the look it always got when needing to remember something from the Age of Legends.

"I had little contact with them…" It paused, thinking. "They were…like me. But different."

"Different?"

"Yes. They were different _gholam_, so they were not the same as me. Like you are not the same as the man in the house."

"I see." Mat thought it over. He wondered if this _gholam_ was considered troublesome by the Forsaken or not. "They only made six of you…they got scared, I heard. Or uneasy at least."

"I was not told why they stopped. Perhaps six was enough, maybe we frightened them." He felt it stretch its legs out on the floor.

"It must be hard to make a _gholam_. I mean, you not only have to make a whole new body with stretchabilites and the immunity to the One Power, but also a living creature that can think for itself. A brain. Skin. Did you ever see one of the others created?"

The _gholam_ did not reply. Mat frowned to himself. That was odd; usually it would quite happily answer any question directed at it, even if Mat didn't like the answer. "You fallen asleep back there?"

"No, Matrim Cauthon."

Mat opened his eyes and twisted back round to look at it. It had its eyes on him, face set in that neutral expression.

Mat raised his eyebrows. "So, did you see any of the others made?" He drew his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. It continued to look at him silently. "Is this something you can't talk about?"

"No." It paused. "I did not see them made."

"How was it done, do you know? Were you…grown or put together?" Mat's curiosity had been peaked by its unwillingness to talk. It cocked its head.

"You ask many questions."

"I do." Mat's mouth curved up in a smile. "Questions you don't seem to want to answer." Mat closed his eyes again in the silence, hearing his own heartbeat deep in his chest.

Heartbeat…

He opened one eye. It was gazing across at the barn door, probably looking forward to its cow. Mat put his head up and let one arm slide out. He pressed his hand gently against the _gholam's_ chest. It looked down in surprise, then turned its eyes back to him.

"What are you doing?"

Mat felt its chest thud under his fingers in that slow rhythm, and he turned his face up to it. "You've got a heart." He tapped its coat. "I can feel it."

It sat there still and silent as he moved his fingers up to its neck, pressing them into where its artery should be. There was no pulse, despite the slight deceptive raised line that suggested a real blood system beneath its skin. Mat chewed the inside of his mouth in thought. "You've defiantly got no blood, so why is your heart beating? Did he just give you a heart in case someone checked?"

It reached up and caught his hand with its own. Mat wondered for a second how in the Light it could be so _warm_ without blood.

"He did not give me the heart."

"What do you mean?" He stared at it, frowning slightly.

"I was…someone else. I was another person, before I was a _gholam_."

Mat stared in shocked silence. It tilted its head and its eyes took on intense, fierce gaze. "But I am me, Matrim Cauthon. I am not who I was constructed from. I do not want your pity."

Mat shook his head. "They mutilated and twisted people to make you?"

"I do not know how it was done." It let go of his hand. "But I am not that man. He is gone."

Mat sat back, trying to work out what to do about this new revelation. He examined its face. The face of a man who had been turned into something as far from human as you could get. Had he been willing, the man it had been? A Darkfriend, perhaps? Or someone who had been captured?  
The question was did it matter? It was watching him carefully as if it knew what he was thinking. Mat rested his head on his knees again and found himself feeling unexplainably annoyed. He had thought he had known everything there was to know, but now this.  
But again, did it make a difference? It was the _gholam_ now, whether it had originally been human or not. Besides, it was clear all that was left of the man it had been was his appearance. It was now the _gholam_ he knew and was used to. The _gholam_ he had learnt all the little quirks and expressions of.

"Well," Mat said, and looked up at it from under his brows. "You're still bloody shadowspawn in my opinion, whether you have a heart or not, and I'm still stuck with you."

A smile came to its lips and it examined the thin scars on its hands where the medallion had brushed it.

"Yes."

Odd creature.

"And once things are dark and settled out there we'll have a sneak. Just let me get some sleep first, I'm really worn down." Mat shuffleddown to lie on the floor, and he pulled his pack over to use as a pillow. A hard and uncomfortable pillow, but better than the floor.

"I will wake you later," I told him, and got to its feet. Mat watched as it grasped hold of the ladder up to the hay loft and climbed up. It started examining the space curiously.

"Chuck me down some hay?" Mat called up, and it did so. He pulled it around himself and closed his eyes, determined to get what rest he could.

* * *

Mat grinned as the feel of soft lips covered his mouth, and the buxom tavern girl held the back of his neck in a passionate embrace. Ever so gently he slipped his arms around to unlace her bodice and she gave a small moan. He caught hold of the laces and began to pull, freeing her. She arched against him and Mat kissed her more deeply. Then the _gholam_ was suddenly there, shaking his shoulder and telling him to wake up. Annoyed, he went to swat it away but it wouldn't stop shaking…

…Mat opened his eyes and groaned with disappointment.

"Burn you! I was having a good dream." He sighed and struggled to sit up. His neck immediately let him know that the pack had been a very bad choice of pillows.

"What did you dream about?" The _gholam_ straightened up from his side. Rubbing his neck, Mat brushed off straw.

"Kissing a pretty girl. And now," He slung his pack on and got to his feet. "I have to go out there and help you slaughter a cow.Let's go and get it done."

The _gholam_ slid toward the door without comment and pushed it open slowly, its head turning this way and that. Mat followed close on its heels. "Anyone around?"

It shook its head and stepped out into the blackness. Mat tried to make his eyes as wide as possible, seeing his companion by the light of the moon. It flared its nostrils and started moving around the side of the barn. Mat went after it, keeping a look out. Last thing he wanted was the farmer to come out and stick him with a pitchfork, then have the _gholam_ kill said farmer. He doubted his luck would hold long enough to have pitchfork prongs miss anything vital.

They reached the corner and peered around. A small field was fenced off, and inside a large cow was lying down on the fallow grass. It turned its head and looked at them. The _gholam_ edged forward. Mat stayed backed up against the barn. "I'll stay here and keep an eye out." He wasn't a squeamish person by a long shot, all the gore he'd seen in battle, but he had no wish to watch it feed. He moved around and kept his eyes on the farm house, the last glimpse of the _gholam_ he saw was it climbing over the fence.He waited there in the silence, determined not to look around no matter what he heard. Hopefully the _gholam_ was skilled enough not to let the animal make too much noise. Then it could dump the body with its _gholam_ish strength and they could make a run for it. With a bit of luck the guards would be alerted for a pair of thieves and they'd be stopped or…something. Then maybe he could get away and find Rand. Get protection. But then…what would happen to the _gholam_? Would it come after him? He could hardly see it doing –

The cow gave a high pitched wail and Mat jumped. Praying no one in the house had heard that he stood there uncomfortably, wondering how long the _gholam_ would take. Against his better sense he strained to hear something from behind the barn. There was nothing. In some respects waiting was worse than actually seeing. He wrung his hands together, wishing suddenly for his hat back. The night air was nippy, and in an odd way the hat acted like a barrier between him and the rest of the world. With it, and everything else that had come to define him, he felt stripped down. Exposed for the world, and the _gholam_, to see.  
How much blood was in a cow, anyway? Enough for it to get better, at least. He didn't know if it could be starved to death by not feeding, or if it just went weak and helpless. He sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek, wanting it to hurry. He felt the horrible sensation of being watched, and flicked his eyes about. In honesty it was too dark to see much, but it made him feel a bit better to be out here instead of in the barn alone.

Mat rubbed his head and was glad to feel his scalp wound healed. Had that really been eight days ago? Time seemed to have rushed past in a mix of fear, discomfort and pain. _Time flies when you're having fun_. He smiled wryly to himself and wondered how his family was. He hoped his sister was alright. Bode was probably panicking over him. Light, he prayed that she hadn't got in the _gholam's_ way that night. It was unlikely but… He had considered asking it, but he didn't want to tell it that his sister was a Channeler. It might go after her if he got away and it wanted revenge.  
Mat felt thirsty. He wanted the _gholam_ to hurry so that he could fetch his waterskin. They had a rushed journey ahead and he –

The dice started rolling.

"Oh blood and bloody ashes…" He willed them to stop, knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway. "Not now, burn you!"

Not once had the flaming things warned him during this whole bloody escapade! And they chose _now_, just as he was heading in the vague direction of freedom, to start their cursed rolling. What was it to be this time? Another brush with death? Another life changing decision? He rubbed his temples.

That was when he heard the scream.

He whipped around and without thinking immediately ran toward it, toward the _gholam_ and its meal. That had been the scream of a child, terrified and wild. What in the Light was going on? Had the _gholam_ snuck into the house and grabbed the little boy? His stomach churned.  
Mat skidded to a halt as he saw the scene in front of him. The _gholam_ over the still body of the cow, staring up in shocked surprise. The boy, Raab, stood across from the fence screaming his head off, eyes locked on the _gholam_ and its meal.

Not good. Defiantly not good.

Before he had time to react the _gholam_ was up and darting toward the boy. Blood dribbled from the corner of its mouth. The boy didn't move, just continued to scream in numbing fear. Mat's legs flew into action, driving him on a course to reach Raab before the _gholam_. He knew what it intended to do. Shut the boy up. He doubted shadowspawn had any qualms about killing a child. What in the Light was he doing out here spying on them!

He wasn't fast enough. The _gholam_ got there a split second before he did and locked its hand around the boy's throat. The scream was abruptly cut off. Unable to stop his forward motion quickly enough, Mat ploughed into the _gholam's_ chest. It hardly moved, but the impact gave Mat the extra time he needed to grab its arm as hard as he could.

"Kill the boy and you might as well kill me too." He told it, eyes fierce. It gazed at him, teeth bared in a snarl. Mat refused to let go of it. Raab whimpered. "I won't travel with a child killer."

For a moment the three just stood locked there, the dice still tumbling in Mat's head. Then, reluctantly, it let the lad go. Raab immediately screamed and ran for his life, out across the land toward the house. The house which was rapidly coming awake, lights shinning through the curtains, the sound of shouting from inside. Mat sighed and released its arm. It rounded on him.

"Now we must go." It spat, its anger showing through. Mat nodded and licked his lips.

"Yes, we have to go now." He turned and ran back toward the barn. Leaving his pack behind wasn't an option. It ran beside him, the blood still on its face.

"I had not finished!" He glanced at it and its expression was now one of desperation. "I was not done."

Mat swung round into the barn and rushed over to his pack. He flung it on his shoulders and sped back out again. The farmhouse door was open and the man stood there brandishing a kitchen knife, Raab clinging to his leg and sobbing.

"KILLERS! MONSTERS!"

Mat grasped the _gholam's_ hand and yanked it onto the road, forcing his legs to get as much speed as possible. It matched him stride for stride, although it peered over its shoulder as it ran and made a miserable sound in its throat. Mat couldn't help but feel a little sorry for it.

"I'm sure…we'll find…another cow." He panted. He didn't think the man would come after them, especially if his son told him he had seen the _gholam_ drinking cow blood, but he wanted to be as far away from the farm as possible.

"I am supposed to avoid notice." It said, turning its head back to the road. "Those were my orders."

"They can…stick their bloody orders!" Mat growled. Not a particularly helpful comment, but given the situation the best he could come up with. This was turn of events was either going to be very good for him or very bad. Whoever found out about the dead animal would click that it was them.

Mat gave up. He was too tired and fed up of trying to plan. For now, he would concentrate of running. Maybe by tomorrow night he'd be able to sleep in a proper inn with a nice soft matress and the _gholam's_ warmth at his side.

* * *


	13. Trust betrayed

**Slight extra warning on this chapter. It's darker than usual and has some violent content.**

**On a side note, if anyone wants to e-mail me with questions about the fic or whatever, please feel free to do so. I've had a couple already and figured that I'll let you guys know I enjoy answering them. Or if you're not an account holder, leave it on your review with your e-mail addie, and I'll get back to you.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

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**

"_Supposedly their creation involved making them so that they would be obedient to the Chosen, whoever they might be at any given time…This element in gholam has some flaws, however, as we have seen in a small measure.  
__In any case, if I were you, I wouldn't try giving orders to a gholam unless I were one of the Forsaken."_ - Robert Jordan, the Tor website.

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The _gholam_ had been in a dark mood since the failed farm plan. Mat had long given up attempting to communicate, so instead shuffled along next to it in the line of carts, people and horses waiting to get into Caemlyn. He had no answers as to what it would now feed on, and frankly he was just a little fed up with helping the bloody thing keep him captive. He was almost in the city now and all it would take was a slip of the _gholam's_ already weakening concentration for him to sneak away and get to Rand.Unconsciously he tugged his shirt up to cover the thick scar around his neck and glanced over at it. 

The _gholam_ was eyeing up Lower Caemlyn and the city walls, ignoring him. The sprawl of houses andtaverns seemed to interest it as they moved past at a steady pace. Some of its colour had returned but its refusal to speak to him with more than short snaps meant Mat didn't know exactly how 'full' it was. It was annoyed with him for the ultimatum, but Mat knew that if it had killed the boy he simply couldn't have continued. The image of Olver in the lad's place was too vivid for his liking. But Raab was safe now. Safer than Mat, at least. An angry _gholam_ usually meant a violent _gholam_. He was just thankful they had been running and travelling too fast for it to give too much thought on whether it would punish him for threatening it. They had kept running until dawn, when Mat had seen Caemlyn on the horizon. He knew then they would reach the city by the afternoon and slowed the pace. So far no furious farmer had come after them in revenge for his cow.  
Mat eyed up the distance to the tower-flanked gates. Another few minutes maybe, then they'd be safely inside.

A burly man shoved past him carrying chickens in wooden cages. Mat could hear people protesting, but the man seemed not to care. Mat felt like elbowing him in the gut. Light, couldn't people wait? The _gholam_ turned just in time to be pushed out the way by him, and stared after the man with its eyes narrowed.

"Forget it," Mat told the _gholam_. "The Queen's Guard will stop him."

He had the unpleasant feeling that the shadowspawn was close to snapping and the last thing he wanted was it turning on the people here. He could do nothing to defend them, and he was beginning to wonder if its orders to 'avoid notice' would stop it if it lost control.

The _gholam_ turned away from the man and looked up at the walls, which were now rapidly getting closer. Towers thrust up into the air from behind the grey stone - a brief glimpse of the beauty inside. "What do you think, then?" He asked it with a hint of pride.

The _gholam's_ head turned slowly around to regard him. There was no trace of any emotion on its face, only a blank gaze. Mat met its eyes, defiant. If it was going to blame him for its half-meal, then fine. He refused to pander to it. Somewhere in the back his mind, past the rolling dice and behind the dead men's memories, was Nynaeve's voice telling him not to get cocky. He stubbornly ignored it.

The _gholam's_ eyes flicked around them, and a smile that could have been a snarl grew on its lips.

"This city itches with channelers." It spoke softly.

"Well you'll have to reign in your…wants, or we'll get caught." Mat told it, moving on along the line, now within hearing of the half-dozen brightly liveried guards. The _gholam_ cocked its head and that snarl or smile widened, but it continued in silence.

"Move along, keep the line moving." A bored guard shouted out as they passed. "No hold ups, just keep moving." Mat tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. The other four guards were peering at people as they passed. Mat's eyes widen and he tugged the _gholam's_ coat. It looked at him over its shoulder.

"Cover your flaming scar!" He hissed. Light, if descriptions had been circulated… The _gholam_ immediately put a hand to the back of its head, rubbing its fingers through its hair as if hot or sweaty there. It pressed its elbow across its cheek. The guards totally ignored them as everyone shuffled through into the New City. Two of them were now busy holding onto the arms of the man who had pushed in front, none of them looking at all happy. Mat looked away in satisfactio and up at the skyline, a smile growing on his face. He could see the towers rising up ahead of him, white and gold. He'd forgotten howbreathtaking Caemlyn was.

The road opened out into a large boulevard and the two of them walked along with everyone else. Other people turned off and went down smaller streets. Mat realised he had no idea of where to head to. The _gholam_ had stopped scratching its head and was gazing around the city instead, nostrils occasionally flaring, slipping past people on the crowded road.

"We should find an inn. I've only got coppers from my gambling the other night, have you got enough money in your pocket?" he asked, looking about for a promising tavern. It nodded with only half its attention on Mat just as on old women pushed up beside him.

"Apples, m'dear?" She grinned, her eyes crinkling around the corners.

"No thank you."

The woman waved one under his nose. "They're lovely and sweet. Just like you." The grin widened. Mat blinked and tried not to laugh.

"No, ma'am, they're far too sweet for me." He nodded his head at her and she finally gave up, giving him a last, slightly lecherous wink, before moving onto the next man. Mat chuckled and went to go back to looking down the streets when he saw the _gholam_ had fallen back beside him, watching him carefully. "What?" It continued to stare. "What's wrong?"

"That woman."

Mat raised his eyebrows expectantly. A slight frown passed over the _gholam's_ face. "That woman was…attracted to you."

"It happens a lot." Mat took hold of its arm and pulled it down a less crowed street, toward the Inner City. It followed behind him but jerked its arm back.

"Is every woman attracted to you?"

A fellow walking next to them gave the _gholam_ an odd look and moved on. Sooner they got into a tavern the better.

"No, not _every_ woman. Just…a lot of them." Ignoring the _gholam_ for a moment he looked over at the shining white wall that marked the boundary between the New City and Inner City. The beautiful craft of the Ogiers was behind those walls. The Royal Palace.  
_Please be there Rand. Light burn you, be there.  
_Going back to the Queen's Blessing was out of the question. Master Gill would recognise him straight away and the _gholam_ would kill them all. No, better to handle this on his own.

Matheard shouting to the left of him and glanced over. Two men were arguing, one bright red in the face. A woman stood behind the other looking bored. Mat cast his eyes up at the building. The sign outside the door said 'The Red Bull'. That would do for tonight, he decided, and nudged the _gholam_. "Come on. Let's go in there." He bustled across the crowd, receiving some cursing, and moved quietly past the woman. She smiled at him, lips painted a bright red. Mat nodded to her, wise enough not to smile with the two men around, and went inside. He felt the _gholam_ at his back and paused just by the doorway. The common room was quiet, with only one old man drinking in the corner and a serving girl cleaning the tables. The brief flash of memory of his first time in the Queen's Blessing's common room went past, but was gone before he could hold onto it.

The innkeeper was lent against the bar, his large bushy moustache making him look rather sad. His apron strained over a large round belly and he gave them both the once over with a knowing eye. Mat nodded to him and went over. The man smiled kindly. "Afternoon," Mat said and gave him a cheerful grin. "My friend and I are after some food, drink and a warm bed for the night."

The innkeeper waggled his moustache and rubbed his portly stomach.

"And I can supply all three. We've got a fine cook, good ale and soft beds." He motioned to the tables. "If you take seats then I'll tell cook to sort something out for you later, and get Saralin two beds made."

"Thank you Master…"

"Wil. Two ales?"

Deciding the _gholam_ better at least make a show of being human, Mat nodded. He wouldn't let the bloody thing actually drink the stuff, but it would look odd otherwise. He moved over to one of the tables the girl, presumably Saralin, had just cleaned. The _gholam_ followed and they sat down. Mat took great pleasure in getting the weight off his feet and the pack off his back.

"Thank the Light for this," He sighed, and watched Master Wil pour their ales. The serving girl moved over to the bar, but glanced at him. She gave a genuine smile and Mat returned it. She had lovely wide blue eyes and chestnut hair. Her hips moved in a very appealing way as she picked up the drinks and came over, setting the ale down on the table. She bent over to rest opposite Mat, giving him a clear view down her cleavage. He grinned at her. "Saralin?"

"That's right," She licked her lips. "And you are?"

Mat just managed to check himself from telling her exactly who he was.

"Thom." He told her instead, and lent his chin on his fist. She gazed at him from beneath dark eyelashes.

"Nice to meet you, Thom." Standing, she put a hand on her hip. "I'll go and sort your room. Make it nice and…comfortable for you."

"Thank you." He gave her a wink and she laughed, skirt swishing as she sauntered off. Chuckling Mat took a sip of his ale and gave a sigh of contentment.

"You are attracted to her." The _gholam_ suddenly stated in a low, soft tone. Mat looked round at it curiously. It was gazing at him with an odd expression Mat had only seen when it had got itself drunk.

"She's pretty, that's all. She seemed to like me."

The _gholam_ looked at the mug of ale in front of it and sniffed the air. Carefully it picked up the ale, examining it silently. "You're not going to drink that, are you?" Mat hissed. "I don't want you getting like you did before. Then sicking up on me."

Its eyes flicked over to his face. "I wish to taste it."

"No!" He glanced over at the innkeeper, but he was ignoring them. "Don't."

The _gholam_ slowly leant over to him, nose almost touching his own. It bared its teeth in a snarl.

"You will stop giving me orders, Matrim Cauthon."

"You're going to make yourself sick!"

It quite deliberately took a gulp of ale and sat back in its chair, not taking its eyes from him. It was bloody taunting him. Mat shook his head and turned away. If it wanted to heave again, then fine. He wouldn't be there to rub its back this time.  
A moment later it put the mug back down. It was empty. Mat scowled at the mug then at the _gholam_, lip twisted in distain and anger. "You're a bloody idiot."

It laced its fingers together and rested them on the table, thentilted its head ever so slightly.  
It wasn't his bloody fault the flaming thing was hungry! Why ignore him and snarl at him when he was trying to stop it being ill?

He shoved his half-drunk ale over to it. "Drink it then, if it makes you happy" he turned his back on it, speaking bitterly."Light, I wish I'd killed you in Ebou Dar."

Mat regretted it as soon as he said it. He half wanted to turn and see what its expression was now, whether it was angry. But the other half told him that he didn't want to know. Then there was that niggling part of him, the part that had spent the days talking with the _gholam_ about home, his hopes and fears and wishes, that was no longer sure if he really did want it dead.

It was all so complicated.

Knowing he would have to look at it at some point, he turned and faced it. His mug of ale was untouched, its face neutral, completely devoid of emotion. Its fists were clenched, knuckles white. It was furious.

Oh Light…

He needed to get away from it _now_. Mat stood up slowly and its eyes followed him. "I'm going to our room. I'm not trying to run, I just want to rest." He pulled the pack off the table and carried it in his arms. The _gholam_ just watched him silently. Feeling his heart hammer he looked around at the innkeeper. The moustached man was lent against the bar again, regarding them both. "I'd like to go up now, if that's alright. I'm feeling a bit off."

Wil nodded. "You certainly look pale. Both of you." He reached under the bar and fetched a key. "I'll tell cook to get your meals this evening."

Mat nodded and took the key from him. "How much will it be?"

"Seven silver pennies'll do it. Your room is up the stairs and at the end of the hall."

"Thanks," Mat rubbed the back of his neck. "Eben's got the money. He'll sort you out." Slowly he turned and made for the stairs, somehow still feeling it watching him as he ascended.

_Light, don't get it into your head to punish me_.

Matwas being painfully reminded again just how much he was at its whim and mercy. His feet shuffled along, carrying him to the door. He unlocked it and went inside, looking around without much interest. The room was small, dark, dingy and had no fireplace. The two beds were pushed up against the wall, wash basin and table in-between. Mat rubbed his head and flopped down, inwardly cursing his own loose tongue. Slowly he let his pack drop and he opened it up, inspecting the contents, pulling them out and setting them on the bed. Half a pie, some hard bread, cheese, salted pork, water skin, razor. Sighing he set the things on the table and shoved the pack under the bed.  
How long should he wait until going down again for his meal? Unable to stay upright any longer he flopped backward and laid down, half wondering if he should try the window for escape. But his fear of the _gholam_ catching him while in this mood kept him away. He doubted it would just be his arm ripped off now.

For a while he was content to just rest there on his own, each passing moment easing some of his worry. A faint smile grew on his face. Saralin had promised to make the room comfortable…didn't look like she'd been in at all. He shook his head. A girl as slippery as himself. If circumstances were different…  
He put his hands behind his head. He was almost free now, he was sure of it. Had to be sure of it. His hopes clung to the idea that once he escaped and got somewhere he would be hard to get to, the _gholam_ would give up. Then he could warn…well, whoever 'the women' were, and everything would be alright again. Things could go back to normal.

Deep down he knew things were never that simple.

For reasons Mat had a vague idea of but did not want to think about, the _gholam_ was possessive, obsessive and even protective of him. It wanted him alive, to be its captive and companion. Mat wasn't utterly oblivious to the possible explanations. He just really really _really_ wanted to be wrong. Wanted it to just be curious of human life, and Mat was the logical choice, being the human who had given it new experiences.

The trouble was, the _gholam_ was not logical at all. It acted in the most illogical way at times. Why not just escape the White Tower and get away, instead of chasing after the man with the one thing that could hurt it? _Then_ it could have found someone to teach it the meaning of freedom. It was a mad plan to go after him. But, frustratingly, he was pretty sure it wasn't insane. There was a calmness and stability to it that madmen did not have.  
So with logic, pure curiosity and insanity crossed out that left him with the reason he didn't want to think about. The reason that also explained some of its actions and words.

Light save him, anything but that.

His head jerked up as the door opened, heart immediately thumping in his chest, stomach clenching painfully. The slim figure of the _gholam_ was silhouetted in the doorway, one hand on the handle. Mat slowly sat up and pushed his hair from his eyes. He wanted to say something, anything, to try and gage its mood. But nothing came from his mouth. His tongue was frozen.  
With a push of its hand it swung the door shut behind itself. It stood there watching him, face a blank mask. Mat wanted to scream at it, make it _do something_, even if that was hit him. Force it to give away if it was angry or not. Light he hoped it wasn't drunk again.

Then, with the sinuosity of a snake, it slid toward him until it stood by the bed at his side, looking down. Mat stared up at it, still searching desperately for that perfect comment that would make it smile, tilt its head, or even frown. None came.

"Your heart beats fast." It told him softly. Mat already knew. He could hear the blood thundering in his ears. Dumbly, he nodded. "You are frightened."

No longer sure where this was going, Mat nodded again and licked his dry lips.

"Are you going to kill me?" He was surprised how calm his voice sounded. The _gholam_ just continued to watch him. Mat edged off the bed, carefully palming the razor as he did so. If it had decided to finally be rid of him he wanted to die fighting, not led down on the sheets with his head torn off. Its eyes followed but it made no attempt to stop him. Mat backed off into the centre of the room wishing desperately for his medallion, _ashandarei_ or any other form of protection other than a bloody shaving razor. He flicked the blade out, ready to slash if needed. Maybe it would be slower…maybe its lack of blood would weaken it. It just stood there, unmoving.

Mat opened his arms, welcoming it to attack him, get this over with. "Light burn you, _gholam_," He growled. "If you're going to kill me, do it!"

A twisted snarl of fury curled its lip and it flew at him with full force. Mat held his arms up in defence but it did little to lessen the impact. He was driven back, slamming into the wall behind him with a crack that immediately made his vision flare white for a second. He cried out in pain and shock as the blow reverberated through his bones. In more instinct than conscious act he brought the razor up and across. The blade hit home, cutting a deep gash in the _gholam's_ face, from eyebrow to lips. His eyes refocused and he saw the wound, bringing the razor around to go at it again. The snarl was still on its split lips as one arm whipped up to press across this throat and the other hand snatched his wrist as he aimed the blade for its face another time. Mat gasped for air as it pushed against his windpipe, not quite hard enough to choke completely. His hand was caught and held fast against the wall but he kept hold of the razor stubbornly. Burn it if he would let go!

He watched as the bloodless wound closed over until there was no trace it had ever been. Light this was useless. The _gholam's_ form was pressed up against him, pinning him still. His free hand struggled and clutched hold of its coat in a pathetic attempt to pull it off. Its snarl deepened.

"I told you stop giving me orders." Its voice had a harsher tone behind it Mat had not heard before. "I tire with being ordered by one human or another, and I will not take them from you."

Mat took a gulp of air and forced words out from his burning throat. "Wh…what are you going to do to me?"

The snarl faded as it looked at him. Then, slowly it lowered its head to his neck, as if examining his hanging scar. Mat's chest heaved up and down as he fought to breathe. "What do you want with me!"

"You tell me not to harvest," It said softly, breath so hot on Mat's neck. "That we will be caught." It rose up again, face in line with his own. And suddenly it was twisting his wrist, forcing the razor from his hand. "So you, Matrim Cauthon, will give what I need."

_Need? What…? _"What do you mean, need? I don't ha…" Then it dawned. His brown eyes widened and he pulled more instantly on the _gholam's_ coat. "Get off of me, Light burn you!"

The _gholam_ ignored him, keeping him pinned as he struggled hopelessly. Now with the razor between its fingers it dragged Mat's arm further up the wall, pushing back his sleeve, wrist and inner arm exposed. Mat was unconsciously copying the _gholam's_ recent expression, his lips drawn back in a furious snarl. It was one thing to be killed in a battle, duel or fight. But to have his blood stolen like it had the cow… In an odd way he had thought it had more respect for him than that. Too late now though.

The blade was a sharp slice of pain as the _gholam_ dragged it across the inside of his arm. Blood immediately dribbled from the wound and ran slowly down his arm in thin rivulets. Mat turned his head away, not wanting to watch. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach. Demeaned, used and worthless. He stared out of the small window, lips twisted, trying to extract himself from the world around him. Better not to feel what it was doing, or to think about how far it would go.

* * *

Nerim grinned merrily as he strolled along the muddy road toward Caemlyn. He had never felt so happy before, so content. He was on a journey with an important man, dressed in a smart uniform and with some sort of weave around him to make him look older. He was one of the Queen's Guards, or so it looked. The people of Andor's tongues loosened when confronted by a uniform and a stern face. Mostly he left the talking to Moridin though, who had steadfastly refused to actually wear the uniform. Instead he used the deceptive weaves around his whole body. Rather than a black haired young man he looked like a middle aged, grim faced guard with chestnut hair and eyes. Only the voice remained the same. Melodious, deep and rather lovely. 

So far they had found no sign of Mat Cauthon or the _gholam_, despite visiting several farms. Moridin had come to the conclusion that the lack of wild animals nearby would force them to a farm, for the _gholam_ to kill someone and feed. Nerim thought it was all rather disgusting, but was pleased to be on such an important and exciting mission. Oddly, Moridin did not seem so proud, but Nerim caught him smiling at the strangest of times. Maybe he was thinking funny things to himself, Nerim decided. Or he was slightly mad. But Nerim didn't think they'd send a mad Dreadlord to find two such important people. And rescue him, of course.

"There's a farm up ahead." Moridin told him, and he squinted. Sure enough there was, the house almost right at the side of the road.

"Are we going to go and ask them?" Nerim asked, looking up at him. It was rather unfair, he decided. The older man was at least a foot taller than him! Moridin nodded in response and they made a beeline for the front door. Inwardly grinning, he put on the sternest face he could manage, remaining a step behind Moridin as they approached. They strode up the small path and Moridin knocked hard against the wood. Nerim waited in excited anticipation.  
A few moments later it was opened by a blue eyed woman, mouth set in a grim line. She looked the 'uniformed' men up and down.

"Yes?"

Moridin gave her a polite nod of the head and Nerim followed suit. The Dreadlord was good at reading people and how to treat them.

"We're looking for two escaped law breakers who we believe passed this way. One with dark hair and eyes, and the other with several scars and a grey coat. Have you perhaps seen anyone matching their descriptions?"

The woman crossed her arms and drew herself up. "We saw them. We took them in for the night."

Moridin leant forward slightly. "Are they here still?"

"No, thank the Light. Monsters and killers, the both of them." To Moridin's raised eyebrows she motioned out toward the barn. "We put them in there. Then in the middle of the night our son found one of them killing and…and…drinking the blood of our diary cow! He then threatened my boy, but luckily we awoke and Raab managed to get away." She waved toward Caemlyn. "The bastards went that way."

Moridin nodded his head and stepped back, eager to leave. Nerim moved out of his way. "Thank you. We will remember this place and make sure the slaughter is reported."

The woman humphed and shut the door. Moridin smiled widely and strode off down the road, toward Caemlyn. Nerim struggled to keep up.

"They're in Caemlyn then?" He called out and half jogged along at Moridin's side. "Are we going to get them?"

"Yes, Nerim. We are."

"Caemlyn's huge though. How'll we find them in a whole city?" He wished Moridin would slow down. His legs were much shorter than the older man's and began to ache at the odd pace.

"It'll be hard. The _gholam_ isn't killing people, for some reason. Maybe it knows that a trail of dead bodies will lead anyone following straight to it…" Moridin appeared to muse on that thought. "But then...it has been acting strangely a good deal, it seems."

"Please…" Nerim panted. "Slow down?" To his relief the Dreadlord did, and he was able to stay at a fast walk. At least they had a proper place to aim for now, rather than hopping from farm to farm. His grin returned. Soon they'd find Mat and the _gholam_, and the Great Lord would reward them for their hard work and loyalty. He glanced up at Moridin's far-away face.

Yes. Soon everyone would see what Nerim Copan was worth.

* * *

**Tbc**


	14. A polite request

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.**

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* * *

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Mat lay slumped against the wall, legs spread eagled in front of him, back propped up uncomfortably. His arms were settled to either side, palms up. Brown eyes were half open, sight glazed down at his knees. Mat knew, with a detached, vague and distant realisation, that he was in bad trouble. But somehow, it didn't really matter. Despite his position he was quite comfortable. Warm, fuzzy and calm. Maybe he could just sit here for a while, until he got back some energy to move.  
His eyes slowly rolled over to look at his right arm. Blood dribbled steadily from the clean slice made across it, making a dark pool of redness on the wooden floor. He knew he should be worried, but no matter. He was comfy here. Cosy. The memory of the drunken _gholam_ slurring out 'cosy' stirred in the back of his mind, and a slight smile grew on his lips. Better to remember that than the feel of its lips locked around the gash on his arm.

He wondered if he was dead. Maybe this was it. The Dark One had him and would keep him here in his dark little room until the end of the Wheel. He listened carefully to the sounds of people outside, forcing his fuzzy ears to pay attention. Humm…. He doubted if there were people selling 'genuine gold rings' in the Afterlife. So if he wasn't dead that meant two things. One, the _gholam_ was still here somewhere, and two, that he was _going_ to be dead very soon.

And the bloody dice still hadn't stopped rolling. Stupid flaming things.

Probably a good idea not to die, he decided. That would not be a good thing for either Mat or the world. The trouble was he didn't even have the strength to lift his arm, let alone stitch it. So he would continue to bleed until he passed out. Not good. The _gholam_ wasn't helping him, wherever it was, but then did it know how close to death he was again? Perhaps it was watching him die, gorged on his lifeblood and satisfied with the scene before its eyes. Well, seeing as being dead wasn't a great option he would have to try and not be. So, Mat Cauthon concentrated on making his tongue work.

"Gh…_gholam_…"

A shadow fell on him and he realised it had been stood by his feet the whole time. It stepped forward, a boot either side of his knees, and bent down on its haunches over his hips. It put its hand under his chin, and with a gentle pull lifted his head.

"What is it, Matrim Cauthon?"

He forced his eyes to move up and meet its own. Its face had a calm, almost kind expression.

"Bleeding." He forced his throat to speak. It glanced over at his arm and the growing pool of blood, then turned back to him.

"Yes. You are bleeding. You will stop soon."

Mat let his head slump heavily against the _gholam's_ hand. Stupid, idiotic creature.

"Dying. I need stitches." His raised his eyes up to it, pleading silently. "Going to die…"

It frowned and took back its hand. Mat didn't have the strength to keep his head up. It took hold of his arm and lifted it up, examining the wound. Mat watched out of the corner of his eye. "It won't stop…" His hand clutched weakly at the _gholam's_ sleeve. "Going to die."

Its frown deepened. Perhaps it had forgotten how much blood he had lost after he had been stabbed. Perhaps it now realised exactly what it had done. Whatever the reason, it suddenly dropped his arm and unbuttoned its pocket, now looking slightly panicked. Mat concentrated on his breathing, making sure it was steady and regular. _Don't pass out, don't pass out…_

The _gholam_ pulled out the Egwene's little sewing kit. Mat was suddenly very glad that Egwene fixed her own buttons and had kept the kit in her desk, or he wouldn't be here. Its fingers moving with lightening speed, it pulled out a silver needle and some thick black thread. Mat recognised it as the same thread that was still in the wound on his stomach. It took hold of his arm again, tilting its head slightly. Then, before Mat had time to react, brought its mouth down to the wound. Mat gasped as it ran its tongue over the gash, cleaning the wound and the surrounding skin. Mat stared. Had it done this with his stomach? He gave up. The _gholam_ would never be normal. The bloody thing had obviously never heard of soap and water. Licking its lips, it pulled back, immediately beginning to sew. Blood began seeping steadily out again, and it moved faster. Mat barely felt anything.

Even with the wound closed he was still on the cusp of unconsciousness. He needed help. Help the _gholam_ couldn't give him. He needed a healer; someone who could give him herbs and make sure he didn't die as soon as he fell asleep. Which he was growing more in danger of doing with every passing second. Mat had helped out injured Band men enough times to know when a cut needed a real healer.

"_Gholam_…" He mustered as much force behind his voice as he could. It glanced up at him, stitches half-way along the cut. "I need a healer. Lost too much blood. _Must_ get a healer, or I'll die."

It shook its head fiercely. "No. No healers. You will stay with me."

Mat wanted to shake it. "Light blind you…Won't be here to stay if you don't _get a healer_! I'll be _dead_!"

"You will run if I leave."

If Mat could have hit is forehead, he would have. "Run? I can't even stand!" His face screwed up in despair. Its possessiveness was going to kill him. "Please don't keep me here to die…"

It was staring it him. Mat could tell it was torn, not knowing what to do. It knew it had gone too far and wanted to help him, but didn't want to lose him either. Snarling in anger and confusion it twisted its head back to the wound and bit off the thread. The stitched cut looked ugly, and blood seeped out a little, but not nearly as much as before. The _gholam_ threw down the needle and went back to another of its coat pockets. It pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around his arm, tying it fast. _Why would a _gholam _need a handkerchief…?_ Mat wondered to himself.

It stood up, staring down at him, wavering between him and the door. "Get a healer," Mat pleaded. "Get them here or buy what they say." Still, it did not move. Mustering the last of his energy he raised his head to look directly into its eyes. "Please, _gholam_. Help me."

That was it. The _gholam_ whipped around, darted out the door and pulled it shut behind itself. Mat could do nothing but wait.

* * *

The _gholam_ slipped past the tavern girl with the irritatingly low bodice and through the door, out into the street. The three people who had been arguing when it and Matrim Cauthon had entered the tavern were gone. It followed along with the people bustling to get where they were going. It moved fast, darting ahead of those that were too slow. It knew now that it had let anger get the better of it. Let Mat's words make it want to hurt him. Now it was going to lose him forever if it didn't find a healer quickly. That could not happen.  
Mat had been talking about a healer who worked with herbs and odd plants. The _gholam_ had seen one of those in Ebou Dar, mixing up some strange smelling concoction to put on a man's bruised ankle. The _gholam_ did not see how plants would help Mat get his blood back, or make him not die, so it had a better idea. A riskier idea, but one that should pay off in the end. 

It would find a proper healer. A Channeler. It would not be difficult. It only had to follow the feel, the itch that it had when near one who could Channel. In this city it had an almost constant itch, but it must directly find one of the women who could heal. In the cell it had been locked in, it had heard the Aes Sedai talking and, from what it could tell, Channelers were now all split into different colour coded groups, depending on their skill. The _gholam_ needed one from the yellow group, or at least an Aes Sedai who had a little healing skill. Mat did not have long.

It felt odd, almost like it was going to sick up again, but not quite. Why had it not stopped after giving him a scare? Why had it just sat there and watched as he bled? It should have known the cut was fatal, but instead did nothing. An emotion that made it want to hurt itself for being so stupid burned in its gut. An emotion that made it want to help Mat and undo what it had done. Was this guilt? The _gholam_ had been taught what guilt was, but had never felt guilty itself.

Deciding it would explore this new found emotion later, it continued to run, waiting for the itch to strengthen. Then, finally, an almost explosion of ability hit its senses from a side street and it stopped short. Ignoring the man who slammed straight into its back, it turned and whipped down towards the channeler, the itch growing with every step. It heard the man shout after it, cursing, but ignored him. Its eyes scanned the buildings it passed. House, shop, house, house, tavern, house. It felt the itch lessen again and it slowed, retracing its steps. A grotty little shop was the source of the itching, so it slid over to the door and went inside. An old man looked up from the other end of the shop. Fabric of every kind lay on tables in long rolls. The old man was in the middle of cutting up a piece of red silk, the expensive cloth laid out. He was not a channeler, but the _gholam_ could see no stairs or doors leading to another room. The itching came from above.

"What are you after?" The old man said, laying down his scissors. The _gholam_ approached him.

"Channelers. Aes Sedai. Where?"

The old man looked shocked, but quickly hid the expression behind anger.

"No idea what you're talking about. Unless you want fabric, get out."

The _gholam_ snarled and reached his table. It lent over, eyes locked on the old man.

"Tell me where the channeler is."

The man picked up the scissors again and thrust the pointed end toward it warningly. "Out! Now!"

Losing what little patience it had left, it snatched the scissors and threw them to one side. It grabbed hold of the old man's collar and yanked him onto the table. The man wailed with shock at its strength.

"Tell me where or I will tear off your legs."

The man stared at it, jaw slack. It could see he knew it was telling the truth.

"Up…upstairs. There!" He pointed to a bookcase full of sewing equipment. A secret door. The _gholam_ had encountered those before. It threw the man aside and darted to the case. With a vicious yank it pulled the case towards itself and it swung open, revealing some stairs behind. It ran up the stairs and heard the old man shout a warning. It mattered not. The _gholam_ was unstoppable.

At the top of the stairs a man appeared, sword drawn. He was not a channeler. As the _gholam_ reached him he thrust the sword toward its chest, but it flowed to one side and pushed him down the stairs, out of the way. It almost ran into a door. Pausing, it felt channelers behind the wood. It twisted the handle and swung it open. It slipped through into a large room with a round table in the centre. Five Aes Sedai were sat around, one in the middle of getting up. There were no other men; Warders, it thought they were called. It stepped forward as all the women turned to stare at it. One looked worried, one angry; the others just regarded it with a frosty gaze.

The woman stood fully and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

"Get out." She said calmly.

"Where's Ortis?" Another asked, voice giving away her worry. The _gholam_ moved forward again and felt the standing woman try to channel at it. Her eyes widened in shock.

"I need a healer." The _gholam_ stated, looking the five women over. "Which of you can heal?"

Instead of answering it felt the woman try and channel again. When that failed she stepped back.

"That's the _gholam_." She breathed, and the women all jumped up. One of them stared at its scar and covered her mouth, eyes wide. Annoyed at the lack of reply, the _gholam_ spread its hands.

"I need a healer." It re-illiterated. "Matrim Cauthon is dying."

"It's going to kill us all!" The woman with the hand over her mouth squealed. The Aes Sedai that looked angry glared at her.

"Quiet!" She glared at the _gholam_ with narrowed eyes. "You have Mat Cauthon?"

The _gholam's_ patience was running thin again. These women were not listening.

"Yes. He is hurt. He needs a healer or he will die. You are Channelers, you can heal."

The woman moved toward it a little, and the _gholam_ watched her silently.

"You could be lying. This could be a trick."

The _gholam_ realised for the first time why Mat rubbed his temples in despair.

"I would just kill you now. No trick. Which of you can heal?"

The angry woman stepped over to him, hands on her hips. "I can. I'm not an expert, but I'm the best healer here."

The _gholam _tilted its head. "You are a yellow?"

"No, there are none of the Yellow Ajah here. I'm the best you're going to get. Take me to Mat."

"Ilsa!" Another of the women cried out. "It'll kill you." The _gholam_ ignored her and turned to go.

The angry Aes Sedai, Ilsa, followed. "I'll be fine. Stay here! I'll meet you back in this room."

Satisfied she was following, the _gholam _darted away and down the stairs. She went after it, letting out a gasp of surprise as they met the man, presumably Ortis, who was lying there moaning and holding his head at the bottom of the stairs. The _gholam_ stepped over him, and although she paused for a second, she did the same. They moved through the shop quickly, and she gave the old man a passing glance to make sure he was alright. He was hiding under the table. She glared at him and they stepped out into the street. "Where is he?" She asked. The _gholam _orientated itself and started back to the tavern. She moved along at its side, lifting her skirt out of the mud. She was not a particularly powerful Channeler, but it knew that with healing, strength was not the main thing needed to be successful.

"An inn. The Red Bull."

Ilsa nodded. "I know that one. Down here, it's quicker." She turned down a small alley and the _gholam_ followed. "How is he hurt?"

"His arm was cut. He has lost a lot of blood. I stitched the wound." The _gholam_ was finding this experience odd. Speaking to a Channeler like an equal.

"Good. Was he conscious when you left him?"

"Yes."

She nodded with satisfaction and they came out onto a strange street. She motioned o another ally and they ran down it. "You will be able to heal him?"

"With luck." She was beginning to pant. "I never saw you at the Tower, but I heard about it. I thought you wanted to kill him, and he you. Since when did Shadowspawn spare a fighter for the Light?"

The _gholam_ mused over this as it ran. Coming up with no satisfactory answer it wished to explain, it glanced at her.

"It is…complicated."

Tiring, she took hold of its arm and it helped pull her along. Faster the better. In a way, this Ilsa reminded it a little of Mat, with her stubborn bravery and flattened fear.  
They skidded into another street and the _gholam_ looked around, recognising it as the other end of the Red Bull's street.

"It's up this way." She pointed and they began to move. Suddenly, like being hit full force with a wall of power, the _gholam_ felt the maddening itch of a hugely powerful Channeler. But it was mixed with the feeling it had felt before, so long ago before its capture. Back when it had watched the women go through a gateway and had found a crushed body. Its broken memory still could not recall what exactly caused this different sensation, but the fact it was mixed with the feeling from the One Power made it guess it was another form of channelling.

It swung its head around to look where this odd sensation was coming from, where such a powerful channeler in this city. To its surprise it saw two people down the street wrapped in…not the One Power, but something similar. Behind the power was tall, black-haired man and… The _gholam's_ lips parted in shock. The Friend of the Dark from the ship. It knew it should have thrown him in the river. Something was odd about the tall man, something that made it inwardly shudder. Ilsa tugged on its arm and it realised it had stopped completely.

"What are you waiting for?" She asked, frowning up at it. The _gholam_ ignored her, dawning on it what about the man made it shudder.

Chosen.

Memories rushed back. _Forced into kneeling before humans that could order it to do whatever they wished. Aginor teaching it to sew. A handsome Chosen giving it orders it could not twist. The blonde, scarred man telling it the names of the women to kill and Matrim Cauthon's description._

The _gholam's_ lips drew back in a snarl. Then, as if he had heard it, the man turned and their eyes met. He stopped dead. The Friend of the Dark hung back, confused, not yet realising. The _gholam_ sprinted into action, yanking the Aes Sedai behind it, not looking if the Chosen was following. If the man caught up it could order it to kill Mat immediately. That must not happen. "What's going on? Why did you stare at that guard?"

"That was not a guard." The _gholam_ saw the Red Bull up ahead. "That was one of the Chosen. You must heal Matrim Cauthon before he reaches us."

"Chosen! You mean one of the Forsaken?" A note of panic entered her voice.

"Yes. Run."

"I am! But there's no way I can heal him before he catches up! I'll have to fight."

"Then you will die." It told her. "He will blow you to pieces or make me do it." They reached the door and swung around inside. Ilsa let go of its arm and clutched her sides. The common room was now completely empty apart from the serving girl. She looked up at them in shock. The _gholam's_ face was still in a snarl, Ilsa panting like a well run horse.

"What's going on?" She demanded and put her hands on her hips. "We don't allow liaisons in this tavern."

With a sense of great satisfaction the _gholam _darted forward, took hold of her head and snapped her neck. She crumpled to the floor. Ilsa cried out in horror.

"Why!"

It snatched her hand and yanked her up the stairs. "Darkfriend." It told her. It had learnt that people like Mat and Ilsa did not appreciate it killing people without cause. The lie had the effect it had intended. Ilsa was still shocked, but said nothing else. At least the annoying woman's death might cause a distraction when the fat innkeeper came running.  
They reached the door and the _gholam_ twisted it open for her. She moved past it and went inside. The _gholam_ followed and closed the door, then leant against it for good measure. Mat lay slumped on the floor, skin grey, unmoving. The _gholam_ stared, chest suddenly tightening. It had killed him. It had gone too far and killed him. It had left him alone and he had died against the wall.

Ilsa bent down to Mat's still body and took his hand, stroking the skin of his wrist. She glanced up at it.

"He's alive."

* * *

Mat gave a small moan as he felt something stroke his wrist. Someone said _he's alive_. A female someone. 

"Mat, my name is Ilsa. I'm going to heal you."

Mat forced his bleary eyes to open to look at the woman bent down at his side. She was beautiful, with long auburn hair and green eyes. Her face was ageless.

Aes Sedai. Healing. _Saidar_. No medallion.

"No…no healing."

"Mat, you're going to die if I don't. Do you understand?"

"Matrim Cauthon," The _gholam's_ soft voice said from somewhere to his left. "You must let her help. Quickly. A Chosen is coming."

"Chosen…wha…" He felt the Aes Sedai put her hands on his head and a tingling feeling ran through his body.

"Quiet. I need to concentrate."

Chosen? Forsaken? Coming here? He didn't even have a weapon, except the stupid bloody razor. Not that he could move.

"He is coming this way." The _gholam_ spoke calmly. "He knows where I am. Must hurry."

The Aes Sedai grit her teeth. "I'm _trying…_"

Mat felt something happening at the wounds onhis stomach and arm. An almost itching sensation. The haze on his vision began to clear and he turned his head to look over the _gholam_. It was lent heavily against the door, almost as though propping it up, eyes locked on him. The bloody thing had fetched him an _Aes Sedai_. A _gholam_ had got a channeler to heal him. The world had gone mad.  
It suddenly looked over its shoulder at the door, as if it could see through the wood. Cried and shouts erupted from downstairs.

"He is here."

Mat managed to lift his good arm off the floor and rub his eyes. Ilsa pressed her fingers hard into his skull and he took the hint, staying still. He felt better, but there was no way he could battle a Forsaken. The sound of feet running up the stairs sounded into the room.

Ilsa growled and shook her head. "I can't do this in time! Not enough for him to fight!"

"We could get out the window." Mat suggested, but doubted he would make the drop without passing out.

"He would call to me." The _gholam_ replied. "I would be told to bring you back and kill you."

Mat looked around the room desperately for something, _anything_, that could get them out of this predicament. "Can you open a Gateway?" He asked Ilsa, and she shook her head. From out in the corridor they could hear doors being burst open. "Blood and bloody ashes…Do you have any ideas?" He spread his hand up at the _gholam_.

"I cannot harm a Chosen. And the Friend of the Dark from the ship is with him." The _gholam_ replied, and suddenly the door shuddered on its hinges as someone, or something, tried to burst it open. Mat's eyes widened in panic. They had to hide…get somewhere the Forsaken might miss if it was angry enough at the _gholam_ for running away. His eyes fell on the two beds, pushed against the wall, sheets untidy. Silently he pointed at his things on the table. Ilsa, understanding, stood up and grabbed them in an arm load. She dumped them unceremoniously out of the window.

The _gholam_ watched with its head tilted.

The door shook again. Grabbing the bloody razor, Mat let himself fall onto the floor and wriggled as quickly as he could underneath one of the beds. Ilsa dived after him, pressed up against his chest, face to face, and pulled the sheets down behind herso they draped on the floor. Mat prayed the _gholam_ would not give them away one way or another. His foot nudged a dirty, cracked chamber pot.

The door burst open and he saw the _gholam's_ boots moved to stand next to their bed, toe in the pool of blood Mat had made. All at once, he was afraid to breathe. He wondered if the one at the door was the Forsaken or the Darkfriend.

He was answered as soon as their new guest spoke.

"There you are." A deep and darkly sensual voice growled. Footsteps sounded as the Forsaken entered. Black leather boots stopped in front of the _gholam's_ brown, dirty ones. "Bow down, _gholam_."

And as Mat watched through the crack between sheet and floor, the _gholam_ kneeled before its master.

* * *

**tbc**


	15. Desperation

Mat did not recognise the voice. In his head he silently ran through the names of the male Forsaken. Balthamael, Aginor, Be'lal, Ishamael, Rahvin, Sammael. All dead. He knew Asmodean's voice, so this had to be Demandred; he was the only one left that this black-booted man could be. He believed the _gholam_ when it said he was one of the Forsaken, and Mat didn't think it would kneel to anything less.  
The boots moved around the _gholam_, circling it slowly.

"What did you think you were doing?" The voice asked, that growling undertone still there. "Getting captured was bad enough, but disrupting the whole of the White Tower, kidnapping Mat Cauthon and taking a trip to Caemlyn? Have you finally lost what little mind you have?" He stopped behind the _gholam's_ bent back. Mat could not see his face, but he imagined the Forsaken looked less than happy. "Answer me."

The _gholam_ paused before answering. Mat wondered if it could lie to its questioner.

"I did not…intend to be captured." It replied. "I took measures to escape and return to my orders."

Mat wanted to snort. It took measures to escape and spend time with the object of its obsession. The Forsaken did growl then; a deep rumble in his chest. He began to circle again. "Then why _kidnap_ Cauthon and not kill him?"

Once more the _gholam_ paused. Mat listened carefully. If it was being forced to tell the truth he wanted to have his fears either rejected or confirmed.

"He interested me."

"Why?"

"He was able to hurt me."

"Yes…" The Forsaken seemed to mull this over, and the toe of his boot tapped against the floor. "With that medallion. But the fact that he owns something that can harm you does not explain why you took him. In fact, I would say it would make you more eager to kill him. Bearing in mind he helped capture you."

"Matrim Cauthon is dead." The _gholam_ told him calmly. Mat's eyes widened and Ilsa frowned. She hadn't yet spent enough time with them to see the complexities of their…relationship.

"You entered Caemlyn with him." The Forsaken stated, a slightly accusing tone behind the words. Demandred was clever, it seemed. The _gholam_ would have to work hard to convince him. Light he was going to get discovered and blasted.

"Yes." The _gholam's_ voice remained steady and calm. Mat's heart made itself known again, beating hard in his chest.

"Where is the body?"

"I hid it." Mat mentally shook his head. The idea of the _gholam_ hiding any of its victims was laughable. It always left them to be found, ripped apart or torn open.

"Where?"

"I will show you, if you wish it."

The Forsaken bent down and Mat saw him put one long, slim finger in the thickening pool of blood. The _gholam_ shifted its boot away from him.

"Whose blood is this?"

"Matrim Cauthon's."

The man stood up again and paced over to the window. He stood there for a moment, back to the knelt Shadowspawn.

"Why go to the trouble of kidnapping him, stitching him up when he was stabbed and travelling all the way here, only to kill him in this…tavern."

The _gholam_ did not reply. It must have run out of lies, Mat guessed. Unfortunately, its reasons for actually doing what it had were neither simple nor easy to manipulate into a believable story. "Answer." The Forsaken ordered again, this time sounding mildly amused.

"I was waiting."

The man turned slowly and Mat saw his boots tilt back as he lent against the sill.

"Waiting for what? _Gholam_ do not wait. _Gholam_ kill, and that is all."

Mat remembered a time when he had thought that too. If only things were still that simple. His eyes flicked over to the floor by the door. No one else was there, so the Darkfriend wasn't in the room yet. They needed to get out from under the bed and away, but there was no chance of that unless Demandred was completely oblivious to a shuffling farmboy and red-headed Aes Sedai. That was unlikely to happen.

"Waiting for him to finish."

The Forsaken was silent but his boots crossed at the ankle casually; the _gholam_ did not move.

"Stand up and face me."

It obeyed, rising fluidly and turning on its toes. After a pause, Demandred spoke again. "Finish what, exactly?"

"Teaching me."

"Teaching you? What could Cauthon possibly teach you? How to play Chop? Roll dice? Seduce women, perhaps? And speaking of women, I saw you with one in the street. Where is she?"

Ilsa gave Mat's accusing look a deep glare.

"She went out of the window."

"And why did she do that?"

"I did not…seduce her well enough."

Demandred straightened and stepped forward. Mat could imagine his nose was next to the _gholam's,_ eyes locked.

"Are you attempting to be amusing?" He growled.

"No, Great Master. That was what Matrim Cauthon taught me. When I learnt everything I harvested him as ordered."

"Well evidently he didn't teach you enough if your potential bed-fellows go jumping out of windows."

"No, Great Master."

Demandred moved around the _gholam_ until he stood behind it, boots almost touching its heels.

"I am not a fool, _gholam_. I am not Graendal; making silly mistakes and underestimating you. _Gholam_ do not want company, lessons or sexual encounters. You're hiding-" Mat's stomach clenched. "-something."

_Phew._

The Forsaken whirled around. "And I intend to find out what." He strode to the doorway and stepped out into the corridor. "Nerim!"

Mat panicked. This was their only chance. If Demandred called someone else in they were as good as dead. He was bound to have the room torn apart in case the _gholam_ was hiding something there. Or he might just order it to tell him where Mat was. This was his last shot while the bastard's back was turned. May his luck hold out.  
Mat's body was chock full of fear and the buzz that came with it, numbing his pain and giving him a sense of energy and strength he hadn't felt since Tar Valon. "NERIM!" Demandred shouted and moved forward a little.

He acted out of desperation rather than with a clear plan, knowing that if he didn't do _something_ then he'd end up dead at the hands of this Forsaken. Gritting his teeth Mat rolled over Ilsa and hit the _gholam's_ legs in the middle of the room. Hardly noticing how it moved aside for him he snatched the chamber pot out from under the bed and whipped to his feet. The Forsaken was taller than him with stark black hair, his face in profile as he glared along the corridor. Without pausing Mat darted forward and raised the chamber pot above his head, a snarl of anger and panic on his face. Demandred turned just in time to meet his eyes before Mat smashed the pot down on his head with full force, the ceramic exploding in a shower of sharp shards. The Forsaken crumpled and collapsed to the floor.

Mat stood there, chest heaving, hands still clutching the broken pottery, staring down at the still Forsaken. Promptly he fell down, all strength gone. Behind him Ilsa scrabbled out from under the bed and knelt at his side.

"Light save us, Mat…you floored him."

Mat nodded weakly. "Quick, heal me before he comes round."

She put her hands to his head and began to complete the healing she had begun. He moved his eyes around to see the _gholam_ standing over him. It tilted its head and bent down. Mat raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Teaching you to seduce women…?" He asked. The _gholam_ blinked.

"Yes."

"I don't think you even like women." He turned his eyes away from it. Despite all that had happened in the past half hour, the memory of it draining him still burned. The _gholam_ did not reply, but he could feel it at his side, silent and watchful.

For a while no one spoke. Mat had closed his eyes; trying to ignore the tingling and the knowledge that he was having the Power used on him. Ilsa was concentrating, and the _gholam…_ Well, Light knew what _it_ was thinking. Mat sighed. Back to plan A, he guessed. Try and get to Rand. He didn't want Ilsa caught up in this. She'd be lucky if the _gholam_ didn't kill her as soon as she finished helping him. Maybe he would have to resort to protecting her with his 'if you kill her then I won't be your captive anymore' line. He hoped it wouldn't come to that; it had put the _gholam_ in an exceedingly foul mood last time.

"That's Demandred?" He asked the _gholam_, opening his eyes and motioning to the unconscious man. It shook its head slightly.

"No. I do not recognise him."

"What?" Mat tried to sit up but Ilsa shoved him down again. "He's a new one? They're recruiting new Forsaken?"

"Perhaps."

"Light, that's all we bloody well need. You sure he's a Forsaken?"

"Yes. I am sure."

"Flaming bloody goat kissers…" Mat rubbed his chin and glanced up at Ilsa. She had her lips pursed and appeared drawn; the poor woman was putting all she had into him. "I don't suppose you'd do the courtesy of letting me go now?" He asked it. The _gholam_ gave him one of its most special, spine-tingling smiles.

"No."

Ilsa pulled away and sat heavily on the floor, mouth hung open. Mat pushed himself up and looked at his arm. The stitches had fallen out and there wasn't even a scar. Impressive.

"You alright?" He offered her a hand but she waved him away.

"I'll be fine. Let me sit." She straightened her hair and narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't just disappear again. You're needed, we can't fight without you."

"What do you expect me to do? Turn down its demand? It'll snap my neck and turn on everyone else. Listen, you have to tell Rand about this fellow. This new Forsaken. And tell him…tell him I'm okay. Mostly."

Ilsa frowned and moved her gaze to the _gholam_. It looked back impassively.

"And what are you going to do with me, Shadowspawn?" She crossed her arms and glared. Mat smiled slightly. He liked her, she was feisty. For an Aes Sedai to stand up to a _gholam_ was a brave act, and Mat was impressed by her.

"You healed him. You will live." It answered and stood up. "We must go now, Matrim Cauthon. Before the Chosen wakes." Mat nodded and got himself to his feet. Blood and ashes…all his stuff went out the window. They would have to stock up on food and supplies before leaving Caemlyn.  
Ilsa waved her hand for them to wait and managed to get up. She was shaky, and lent against the wall for support. She reached out and took one of the _gholam's_ hands in her own, clutching it. It tilted its head curiously and looked from its hand up to her face.

"I know you're not on our side," She told it, voice calm. "I know what you are and what you do. But…please. Mat Cauthon _must not_ die. If you kill him…we're all lost. I can see you have some goodness in you to come and get me to help him. Won't you let him go and allow him to go home?"

Mat watched the _gholam_ closely. Its face was neutral, but it had listened. Perhaps feminine charm and reason would work where his cursing had not.

"I have heard pleads before," It replied. "I cannot change my orders." It slipped its hand away from hers. "Matrim Cauthon is mine."

Mat's heart sank.

Feet sounded from the stairs and Mat ducked down and snatched the razor up from under the bed. He wasn't going to let anyone stab him in the gut again, not now he was strong enough to actually save his own behind. The three of them stayed just inside the door, unable to be seen. As the feet reached the corridor they stopped, and a young, frightened voice cried out

"Moridin!"

Mat shared a glance with the _gholam_. It shook its head slightly; it hadn't heard the name before.

Moridin. That meant Death, according to his inner Old Tongue translator. Being able to speak the language sure had its advantages sometimes. "Moridin!" The voice was that of the Darkfriend from the ship, the little bastard that had stuck him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the _gholam_ snarl silently.  
The Darkfriend ran down the hall and fell to his knees by Moridin's side, clutching a bloody knife. The silly fool didn't even look up at them. "Wake up! I can't find them downstairs and everyone's dead! Moridin!"

Mat stepped forward, and the boy had just enough time to look up and stare at him with wide eyes before Mat kicked out and caught him under the chin. The lad cried in pain and ricocheted backward, knife flying out his hand. Mat strode over Moridin and pressed one boot hard into the lad's chest. He gasped and clutched at his ankle feebly, blood dribbling out of his mouth. "Cauthon!"

"You stupid bloody wool-headed idiot! You went and got a _Forsaken_?" he pressed harder and the boy gave a great whoop as he tried to breathe. "I stopped it from killing you and you come bloody well after me! Flaming _Darkfriend_!"

All the anger and frustration that had built up over the past week was bubbling to the surface. Mat did nothing to stop it. "I should stick you with this-" "He waved the razor, still covered in dried blood "-and watch you bleed to death!"

The boy's eyes popped as he struggled for breath, tears spilling down his cheeks. A gentle hand touched Mat's arm.

"Mat, you're choking him. He can't reply." Ilsa squeezed his bicep. "Ease off a bit."

Glaring down at the boy Mat slowly relaxed his leg and let some of the pressure off. The boy panted hard, lying there limp and defeated.

"Can you hold him still with the power?"

Ilsa nodded and gave a small wave of her hand. Mat stepped off him as he suddenly went stock still. Satisfied the lad was held fast; Mat folded the razor up and slipped it into his pocket. "Let him speak."

The boy's mouth immediately fell open and a spill of blood flowed over his lips. Mat guessed he had probably knocked out some teeth.

"Didn't get a Forsaken!" The boy protested. "He's a Dreadlord. And besides," His voice took on a proud tone. "He came after me and rescued me from those sailors."

Mat narrowed his eyes. "Don't lie to me, boy. That's one of the Forsaken, the _gholam_ says so and right now I'd say I trusted its opinion more that yours. It only has to obey them, not Dreadlords."

The boy stared up at him, disbelieving. "He's…he's a Chosen? I mean, he could channel so I just guessed….they sent a _Chosen_ to save me!" A stupid, crooked grin came to his face. Mat wanted to punch him.

"Flaming idiot…" Mat shook his head and Ilsa met his irritated look. "Can you take him? Get him…locked up or something?"

"Yes. I'll take him to the White Tower and have him questioned."

The boy just grinned more. "Then I'll be saved again and you'll see! You'll see how much the Great Lord cares about me!"

"You're crazy, boy." Mat turned his back on him and went back into the room, grabbing his pack out from under the bed. It was woefully empty. "What do we do about Moridin?"

Ilsa's mouth twisted in thought. "I could shield him and take him back to the Tower too."

"One less Forsaken to worry about, I suppose." Mat rubbed the back of his head and glanced at the _gholam_. It was watching them silently. "We need to get out of Caemlyn, in case Moridin told any of his Forsaken friends about us being here."

There was a sudden piercing scream from downstairs and Mat jumped. "What in the Light…"

"Someone must have found the body." Ilsa told him. "The Guards'll come soon. I'll deal with it all and get these two to the Tower as quickly as possible. One of my Sisters can open Gateways."

"Body?" Mat frowned. "What body?"

"The Darkfriend your _gholam_ killed downstairs."

Mat turned slowly to face the _gholam_. It looked back at him impassively.

"You can't kill Darkfriends…" His eyes narrowed. "Who did you kill?" It didn't reply. "Who did you kill, burn you!"

Ilsa answered when the _gholam_ would not. "It was a young woman in the common room. Pretty with brown hair. It said she was a Darkfriend, so I did not question."

Mat's face screwed up in anger and stepped toward the _gholam_. That poor bloody girl had done nothing save flirt with him. Now she was dead. He felt sick.

"You and me are having words." He told it, and it tilted its head.

The sound of men shouting came from downstairs. Guards.  
The lad giggled. "Won't find anyone down there. The fat old man and cook met the wrong end of my knife." The boy was proud of himself. Mat's anger erupted and he gave the lad a hard kick in the ribs. He screamed out in pain.

"You evil bloody bastard! They did nothing to you!" Ilsa grabbed his collar.

"Stop it, for Light's sake! Now get out of here before the guards come up and that thing starts killing more people."

Mat nodded and backed off. "Be careful with the Forsaken. Shield him and bind him up or something."

"I will. Now go!"

Mat jogged over to the window and pushed it open. The street below was busy with people.

"Come on, Shadowspawn. Unless you've changed your mind."

The _gholam_ followed and stood behind him. Mat sat up on the sill, dangling his legs out, waiting for a clear space to drop down. He turned to look at Ilsa one last time.

"Thank you. For everything. Healing me and that."

Ilsa gave him a tight smile and a nod. Hoping she still had enough energy to deal with the sobbing Darkfriend and unconscious Forsaken, Mat dropped down, bending his knees as he landed jarringly on the street. Bobbing his head to surprised looking people, he looked up. The _gholam_ slipped out the window and landed beside him, the impact not even registering on its face. Disgruntled people pushed past them, cursing and muttering. "This way." He told it and moved with the flow. Luckily they were heading away from the front door of the tavern. He didn't want to get caught up with the Queens Guards.  
The image of that serving girl's face floated in his mind. Why had it killed her? Surely not just because she had flirted with him, that was just…insane. Surely it wasn't that jealous.

The sick feeling in his stomach would not go away.

* * *

Mat handed over one of his coppers to the old man in the battered hat, and tied his newly purchased yellow handkerchief around his neck. At last the bloody scar was covered. He turned and grinned at the _gholam_.

"What do you think?"

It moved forward and looked it his throat carefully, as if this was an important decision. Mat rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as it raised a hand and touched the fabric.

"It is…yellow."

"Of course it's bloody yellow! But does it cover up my flaming scar?"

The _gholam_ rubbed the cloth between its fingers. "Yes. Although I do not understand why you hide it."

"Oi," The old man snapped at them. "I'll have none of that business. Move on!"

Mat jerked away from the _gholam's_ hand and gave the man a deep glare. Deciding to get 'we are not bed-fellows' tattooed on his forehead, he pulled the _gholam_ away from the stall and onward along the street.

"Stupid old fool." He muttered and looked about for a blacksmith. He had decided to get himself a dagger, seeing as they seemed to have Darkfriends on their tail determined to end his existence. Not that he'd discussed this with his slippery companion, but seeing as he needed its silver coins he guessed the issue would have to come up. "Why is it every bloody person we seem to meet think we want to have a kiss round the corner? Do I radiate 'I like mansex' or something?"

"No." It replied.

"That was a rhetorical question. But thank you." He dodged past one of the Queen's Guards. "Could I have a couple of your silver coins?" He asked as it stepped beside him as they walked along, intermingled with the crowd.

"You have run out?"

"I will do. I want to buy a dagger in case I get attacked again, and you can't get to me in time."

It carried on walking for a while, seeming to think over his request. It was probably running through ways he could use a dagger to escape. "It's not like I can hurt you with it." Mat pressed. Unlike his suggestion to go to Caemlyn, this was motive free. He hoped the _gholam_ would now trust him enough to have a weapon after he slashed its face open with the razor, although being fair he was defending himself. It cocked its head to look at him and he could see that sly, sneaky smile creep onto its face.

_Oh no._

"Very well," It replied and turned its attention back to the street. "But you will give me something in return."

Oh light the flaming thing wanted a kiss. Or more blood. Or both.

"I don't have anything, except the pleasure of my unwilling company."

"I would know how you gained that scar around your neck."

Mat couldn't help but stare it despite the amount of people he needed to avoid crashing into.

"Is that it? Is that all you want?"

"Would you prefer I asked for more?" It asked, perfectly serious. Mat shook his head and just managed to avoid knocking a basket full of kittens from a woman's arms.

"No. But, I'll tell you once we're off the bloody street. Light I didn't think it would be this crowded without something special going on; I feel like a tavern girl in a room full of soldiers."

The _gholam's_ lack of reply signalled its agreement. A man trod on Mat's foot and he hissed in pain. It was as if the whole of Caemlyn had turned out just to get in their way. Although at least they were hidden from guards in this crowd. He glanced up at the Palace, up in front on higher grounds, hidden behind towers and the white walls separating the New City and Inner City. He could almost imagine Rand inside, pacing up and down in some fine bedchamber, surrounded by Maidens of the Spear. The _gholam_ would never think to look for him there.  
No, he defiantly didn't want to get caught up with the Queen's Guards before he chose to do so himself. Problem was the bloody creature was stuck to his hip like glue. It never seemed to take its eyes off him or give him chance to slip away. Maybe it knew what he was thinking? Mat turned to tap a man who was moving along in the crowd with them.

"Excuse me; do you know where the nearest blacksmiths is?"

The man waved his hand up ahead. "Carry on up this cattle run until you meet the boulevard and turn left. Keep going along there 'til you see it."

"Thank you." Man bobbed his head and nudged the _gholam_. "If we stop off at this blacksmiths then we can go. I've got all the food and water I can carry."

"Where are we going once we leave?" It asked, curiously clear in it voice. Mat ran over the options. Back to Tar Valon was out of the question, so it was either retrace their steps and go to Aringil, head south to Far Madding or…well there was no way he was taking the _gholam_ toward the Two Rivers.

"I'm not sure. Let's decide once I've got the dagger."

After much pushing and shoving, and Mat wishing he had his _Ashandarei _to help him keep his feet, the flow of people reached the main boulevard. He shoved his way through to go left, the _gholam_ making the way easier my slipping in front and making way for him. At least it was useful for something. "Keep an eye out for the blacksmith." He called to it, casting his eyes about himself. "Give me a shout if you see it." Not that the _gholam_ ever shouted. The fact that it never raised its voice was one of the things that disturbed Mat most about the creature, that even when furious it would just go coldly calm. He could deal with a shouting man, but not one that just spoke softly. It made his skin crawl.

After almost being tripped up twice and having to grasp hold of the _gholam's_ shoulders; he finally saw the sign for the blacksmith. The _gholam_ glanced back at him.

"It is up ahead."

Mat nodded and tapped its side to head toward the forge and side shop. The _gholam_ turned and cut through the flow of people going the opposite way. Mat apologised more times than he could count before they finally got to the safety of the smith's.

"Thank the Light for that!" He sighed and smoothed down his ruffled and sweaty hair. He needed a bath. Desperately. "Could I have those silvers now? It'll look odd if I ask you in the shop."

It unbuttoned its pocket and handed him over ten silver crowns and seven marks. Mat stared. "How much do you have in there?" He stuffed the money away before someone decided to knock him over the head and steal them.

"Enough." It replied. Shaking his head Mat opened the door to the shop and looked about inside. A young woman with her hair braided smiled at him as his head poked in.

"Afternoon," She said. Mat grinned and stepped in, glad to get away from the crowd. The _gholam_ followed on his heels. The shop was large with shelves, cases and tables holding all sorts of iron and steel work. He cast an eye on an axe nearby; it looked sturdy and well-made. Trying to ignore the memories of Perrin, and the colours that accompanied it, that popped up in his head he nodded to the girl.

"Afternoon, ma'am. Are we alright to browse?"

Her bright smile widened even more and she gestured around the shop.

"Please, feel free. If you need anything, just ask. Everything here is wrought of the finest iron and steel by the best blacksmith in Andor." She told him proudly.Mat chuckled. At least she seemed honest.

"I'll have a good look then." He told her, and gave a wink. She blushed but to Mat's surprise, winked back. Behind him he felt the _gholam_ stiffen. Burn the bloody thing. He wandered to the nearest case and started looking at the variety of weapons, decorative items and cookware. It followed him, staring around itself curiously. "Got some nice things here," He told it quietly, and picked up a razor with a pretty pearl handle. That probably cost a bit. He handed it to the _gholam_ to look at while he moved on, keeping an eye out for a dagger. It stared at the pearl, fascinated by the shimmer.  
Shaking his head he went around to the next case and was confronted by instruments that looked like weapons of torture. He picked a long spiky thing up with a wooden handle and poked his head 'round to look at the girl. She raised her eyebrows and he waved it at her. "What's this? A weapon?"

She gave a laugh and came over to him, flicking her braid over her shoulder.

"No. That's used in cooking." She gave his arm a slight nudge. "I can tell you don't help your wife out in the kitchen."

"Ah, but if I had a wife as pretty as you I'd spend all day in the kitchen just to makeher smile." He said, ruining the sweet effect of the words with anther wink. She flushed again but laughed more.

"You have a silver tongue!" She told him, but didn't seem to mind. "So what are you after, apart from coking utensils?"

Mat put the spiky thing down and ran a hand through his hair. "A dagger. Steel, with two sharp edges."

She gave him an amused look and nodded her head toward the next case. "Daggers are just over there, but why would such a polite man need a weapon?" They moved around and over to the case.

"Well, men who are too polite to women have other men wanting to stick them in the gut." He gave her a meaningful look and she nodded.

"I can imagine. Well, these are the daggers we have. My father would make one exactly how you wish, if you want."

"Your Pa is the smith?"

"That's right. As I said, best in all of Andor."

Mat reached out and picked up a curved dagger with a wooden hilt. The steel was well tempered, and the blade sharp.

"He certainly is, if this is anything to go by." He put it back. A straight blade would be easier to hide against his side, he decided. She stretched her hand out and caught his own. He looked at her quizzically, but her eyes were on his hand.

"That's a nice ring." She told him, and he glanced down. He had forgotten about the large gold ring, so used to always having it on. "What a lovely stone."

"Thank you." He smiled, and she let him go.

"No wedding ring, though."

His eyes twinkled. "No. No wedding ring."  
A hilt wrapped in green and brown leather caught his eye and he picked up the sheathed dagger. The small scabbard was a plain brown, but when he pulled the blade out its steel gleamed. Grinning appreciatively he spun the dagger in his hand and caught the hilt. The girl gasped.

"You have quick hands!"

"I do." He winked again and tested both edges on his thumb, giving a slight hiss as each drew blood. "Now _this_ is a nice blade."

"Pa made it last week. You want this one?"

"Yes, I think so." He looked at her with a wry smile. "How much?"

She chewed on her lip. "Five silver crowns." She told him, and Mat rubbed the back of his neck.

"Could a polite man push you down to four?"

She gave him a friendly dig in the ribs. "No," A devious look grew on her face. "But a polite man could push me down to four crowns, three marks and a kiss on the cheek."

Mat laughed. This wasdefinatly a girl he'd like to get to know if things weren't so complicated.

"That's a deal." He dug into his pocket and felt out the right amount, not wanting her to see how much he had. He handed the silvers to her, and smiling, she turned her cheek for him. He bent down and kissed it softly, enjoying the pleasant flowery scent of her skin. As he pulled away she squeezed his arm.

"Enjoy your dagger." She told him, and her eyes were suddenly hopeful. "Are you staying in Caemlyn?"

"I'm afraid not. My friend and I have business to attend to outside the city."

"Will you be coming back at all?"

"Hopefully." He looked up. The _gholam_ was no where in sight. It must be down one of the other aisles separated by the shelves and cases, still looking at the pearl handled razor, perhaps.  
His heart started thumping. This was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to get away. It never let him get separated like this and may never again. How far was the Palace? Quite far, but there were the crowds and he could get lost in a flow of people. Plus he knew Caemlyn better than it did, and it would no idea where he was heading. Swiftly he grasped the girls arm and pulled her inclose, speaking softly.

"Have you got a back door?"

She nodded, eyes wide. "What's wrong?" Her voice was hushed, thankfully catching onto the need for quiet.

"The man I'm with... Where is he?"

"He was looking at the cookware." She frowned, confused. "Why?"

"I need to get away from him _now_.Please, let me out the back and make yourself scarce."

"I can't!" She hissed. "I need to tend the shop."

"Then you'll end up dead. He'll kill you if he can't find me. Please. Please help me."

Perhaps it was the genuine fear and desperation in his eyes that convinced her, but she pursed her lips and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the aisle toward the back of the shop. Mat looked over his shoulder but he could still see no sign of the _gholam_. At a small wooden door the girl stopped and pulled out a key, unlocking it.

"There. Go quickly."

"Promise me you'll hide."

"I promise."

Worried for her but knowing this was his only chance, he opened the door and went through onto a less busy street. He turned his head just in time to see the girl's strained, but genuine smile, before she closed the door again and he heard it lock. Clasping his dagger he stared about, trying to see the Royal Palace. It was to his right, up above on the higher grounds, and past the Origan Gate.

Stuffing the dagger under his coat, Mat Cauthon ran like the Dark One himself were on his tail.

* * *

**tbc**


	16. A pleasant climb

**Long chapter ahead. Longest so far, I believe. -Holds hand out for aniki19's M&Ms-**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat dared not look round.

He wanted desperately to know if the _gholam_ was behind him, cutting its way through the crowd to snatch hold of his arm and tear it off. But he was frightened that if he did it would spot him and know where he was. Every second he expected it to grab him, jump on him or just whisper into his ear. As he put more distance between himself and the blacksmiths his chest tightened even more. He would not feel safe until he was in the Palace. Preferably grabbing hold of Rand and giving him the biggest bear hug he could manage, despite the bloody man's new-found sternness.

The Origan Gate loomed ahead, guards stationed there but not stopping anyone from entering. _Light this brings back memories_. Climbing over the garden wall to deliver Elayne's letter, and meeting Morgase and Lord 'Gaebril'. A faint smile came to his face. That seemed like a very long time ago. Morgase was missing now; and Rahvin dead. So many dead…

His part of the crush passed through the Gate and dispersed as people went their separate ways down the curving streets. Mat hurried into a light jog and headed toward the oval plaza in front of the Palace, less and less people going the same way as him. With a bit of his luck there would be a Guard at the gates that would know him, and he'd be with Rand within ten minutes. Then they could put their heads together and work out how to stop the _gholam_ from killing more people. He wondered if it had realised he was gone yet, if it was looking for him or tearing the shop apart. He prayed that the girl had listened to him and got out of its way.

The plaza opened out in front of him and he made a bee-line for the gates. There was hardly anyone around but a dozen Guards were there in their fancy uniforms and bows, just like Mat remembered from his previous Caemlyn visit with Thom. As he approached he scanned the faces of each one, not recognising any. As he slowed down a couple of them glanced at him. He was getting nearer to the gates than anyone else, and like any good soldiers they were prepared for trouble. Luckily the dagger was stuffed into the waistband of his breeches under his shirt, and couldn't be seen. The officer was standing in the middle of the Guards, narrowed eyes turned on Mat, looking him up and down. He was a grim, older man with thin lips and short legs. Mat gave him a nod.

"Afternoon, Captain." His mind went blank. What else could he say? _I'm here to see Rand al'Thor_. _Let me in, I'm Mat Cauthon! _?

The officer gave him a patronising sneer. "What do you want?"

"I need to get in."

_Idiot._

"Oh do you now? Well you can just turn round and go back to where you came from, peasant."

Mat's high-strung patience snapped. "Now listen. I need to get in and see the Lord Dragon. My name is Matrim Cauthon and it's desperate that I get _inside_!"

The officer seemed to be torn between laughing and shouting at him.

"Matrim Cauthon?" He crossed his arms and gave him an unpleasant smile. "Where's your hat? And medallion?"

"It got taken from me, and my ha-"

"And your spear?" The bloody man was mocking him.

"_Ashandarei_." Mat replied through gritted teeth. "I'm not flaming messing around. I am Mat Cauthon; go and get Rand and ask him."

The captain's smile dropped. "I've had enough of this. Move on before I have you arrested."

"For Lights sake!" Mat ripped off his yellow handkerchief and pointed to his scar. "Look! Mat Cauthon!"

The captain drew his blade. "I said, _move on_."

"_Kjasic allein_." Mat spat and walked away, shaking with both rage and fear. What now? The _gholam_ could be on him in any moment and here he was so close to Rand and so close to safety. Well fine. If they wouldn't let him in he'd just have to go back to the garden wall and take a scramble. He'd got in once before that way; he'd get in again. Stupid idiotic man. If he'd just gone and asked Rand…Well, too late now. He'd have to rely on his own initiative. He headed out of the plaza toward the flowered slope, jaw set, and tied the handkerchief back round his throat. This was his one chance of getting free of the _gholam,_ and he wasn't about to let some wool-headed captain ruin everything.

Casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Guards weren't following him or anyone was watching, he swung round and spied the slope leading up to the Palace's white walls. Without thinking too much about the huge risk he was taking he grabbed a handful of grass and flowers, and began hauling himself up. Right now he'd trust his bloody luck to keep his arse free of arrows. Gritting his teeth he concentrated on not falling. Making sure he used strong hand and foot holes, he made slow progress up. There was no way he wanted to fall and break his neck. Although it would save the _gholam_ some work.

Perhaps it was his luck that made him look down, or that he'd spent so much time with it that he could sense when it was near. Whatever the reason, he paused and twisted slightly to look over his shoulder. Off to his side the _gholam_ was walking into the plaza, not looking his way. He pressed himself hard up against the grass, watching with his face screwed up. _Don't look up, don't look up…_

Something shined in its hand and he squinted to see what it was. The bloody thing had probably run out with something from the shop when it realised he was gone. It was disturbing that it had caught up with him so quickly, that it had been all of three minutes behind him. It couldn't have actually seen him though, or it wouldn't be walking like that. It would be tearing after him up the wall and baying for his blood.

He finally let out a breath when it went out of sight into the plaza. Taking a moment to calm his heart he started climbing again, grasping the wall with both hands as he reached the top and hauled himself over to sit on it. Panting he peered down into the garden. It was just as he remembered, if a little less neat, and mercifully empty. Taking a breath he slipped down and landed with bended knees on the grass. Now to get inside without being seen…possible with luck.  
Something sharp and cold jabbed into the back of his neck.

Or not.

He raised his hands.

"What do we have here, then? Fancying a stroll around the royal gardens, were we?"

"My name is Matrim Cauthon." Mat told the voice calmly. "Friend of the Lord Dragon and Lady Elayne. I need to see Rand really urgently; I've got Shadowspawn on my tail."

The unseen Guard, or Guards, behind him paused. The sharp thing, be it sword or spear, pulled away slightly. They must have been pressed up against the wall where he couldn't see while looking down.

"Prove it."

"If you take the handkerchief around my neck off you'll see my hanging scar. Then hand me some dice and I'll prove my luck." He turned his hand palm upward. "And I'm missing my hat, medallion and 'spear' because the Shadowspawn that's after me either took them away or made me lose them. Now please, can I see Rand?"

"Turn around."

He did so and faced two Guards, one he recognised from when he came to the Palace with Rand, Aviendha and Natael, and the other an older man. The younger Guard immediately smiled.

"That's him. That's Mat Cauthon."

Mat smiled back grimly. The one holding a sword to his throat narrowed his eyes.

"You sure?" He was the one that had been talking. The other man nodded.

"I'm sure."

"How do we know you're not one of the Forsaken pretending to be him?"

Mat gave him a look. "A Forsaken jump down from the garden wall?"

The Guard pursed his lips and the sword lowered. He stepped forward, nodding his head. Mat nodded back.

"We hadn't heard you were in Caemlyn."  
"Not by choice. Got brought here by Shadowspawn." He glanced over his shoulder at the Palace. "Could I see Rand now?"

"The Lord Dragon isn't here, my Lord. He hasn't been in Caemlyn for…well a long time."

Mat stared. "What…?"

The younger guard nodded his agreement. "He's right, my Lord."

"Don't call me Lord." He rubbed his temples. "Oh bloody flaming blood and ashes… I thought… Burn that man! Burn me, I'm a bloody idiot."

Plan A gone down the privy.

"Lady Elayne is here, though."

Elayne…she was one of the _gholam's_ targets. Oh Light no. Nonono. This couldn't be happening.  
With a thud he dropped down onto his behind. Stupid wool-headed fool, he'd never even _thought_. Gripping his head in his hands he gave a low moan. He'd just led the _gholam_ straight to her.

* * *

Moridin gave a deep moan as his consciousness slowly kicked in. The back of his skull felt like it was split open, and he had once of the worst headaches since a trolloc had missed its aim and given him a good whack instead of a rival male. He still remembered the look of stupid surprise and terror on its face when it realised what it had done. 

Something had hit him…a blurry image of Cauthon holding a pot, then…nothing. How had the man managed to do it? He was supposed to be dead! The _gholam_ must have lied. Inwardly he put his face in his hands. Never let your guard down with a_gholam;_he knew that. He didn't think of the thing hiding Cauthon until his back was turned. He should have ordered it not to lie.

An unpleasant thought came to mind. Was he dead again? If he had died then he was in deep trouble. He could probably kiss goodbye to Nae'blis, and the True Power to boot.

He ought to open his eyes. Ought to see where he was. However it was much easier to reach out for _saidin_ to see if it was still there; that would tell him if he was dead or not. He let his mind grasp out for it and was immediately stopped by a Shield. That was exceedingly bad news. That meant he was alive and probably in the company of Shaidar Haran. His chest clenched. No. He couldn't lose everything he'd gained just because he'd let his guard down. He couldn't fall so far from the Great Lord's favour.

As his fuzzed mind became aware of his body he realised he was on his toes, arms stretched out above his head and bound. His sockets were weary and painful. He was hanging from something, just able to touch the floor. And his chest was cold. Someone had done this to him, and he had a good idea who. A too–tall Mryddraal who would take great pleasure in punishing a fallen Nae'blis.

He really really ought to open his eyes. Well… He clenched his jaw sending a thump of pain through his head. If the Great Lord wanted him punished he would take it. He would endure whatever was done to him and deal with what came after. But he hoped that Shaidar Haran wouldn't do to him what it had Moghedian…or a variated form of it at least, anatomy considered.

Before he could think too much about it, he openned his eyes.

To his great initial relief he was not in the company of the Fade. He was, however, hanging from the roof beams of the same dank room by his bound wrists. And someone had taken his shirt.

He looked down. By the side of the room lay Nerim, grinning at him happily, hands behind his head. He seemed to have lost some teeth. He blinked and looked back up, then back down. Nerim was still there.

He changed his mind. He'd rather the Fade.

The question was; why was he tied up and half-naked _here_? Surely Cauthon would just kill him. That was the sensible thing to do. Ahh, of course. He meant to torture him for information. Hence the lack of shirt. He narrowed his eyes. Cauthon wasn't a Channeler. He couldn't shield him. And even if he had shielded the One Power… He grasped out for the True Power. The terrible burning agony and ecstasy of it flooded through him. A smile grew on his lips. He'd teach who ever had shielded him exactly what happened to those who crossed the Nae'blis.

"You're a Chosen." Nerim suddenly piped up. "The _gholam_ said so."

"Where is it? Where's Cauthon?" Moridin growled, glancing down at the boy.

"They went out the window while you were unconscious."

He frowned. Why would they tie him up only to run away? Why not slit his throat? There was a slight creak of the floorboards to his right and he turned. Stood there was a red-headed woman, eyes locked on him. In her hands she held his shirt, slowly running it over her palms. She wore the ring of an Aes Sedai. Moridin wanted to laugh. This was what they intended to do to him? Have a so-called Aes Sedai drill him for information then take him back to the Tower for Gentling? He readied himself to squeeze her skull until it popped. Stupid, ignorant woman.

"Which one are you?" The woman asked, a smile on her lips, and stepped toward him. "You can't be Be'lal or Rahvin. And from what I heard it would be unlikely that many of the other males would get a second chance." She stopped in front of him, looking up into his face, smile turning a little mischievous. "Especially with such a….youthful body." One finger stretched out and ran along his stomach.

Moridin turned his head slightly. If this really was an Aes Sedai she was certainly unusual. "Unless, of course, the _gholam_ was lying. And you aren't one of the Chosen. You're just a common Dreadlord, who-" She went up on her toes and slipped a hand on his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. "-has been given a gift that he did not deserve."

"Who are you?" Moridin frowned into her smiling face. She pulled away and stood in front of him, twisting his shirt in her hands. "You know too much for an Aes Sedai."

"Oh, I'm Aes Sedai. But I will answer your questions when you tell me exactly who _Moridin_ is."

"If you know about the True Power, then why have you been foolish enough to humiliate me without being able to shield me from it?"

"I am humiliating you? I was simply admiring that body of yours while I waited for you to wake. You could burn those ropes at any time."

"You're Black Ajah." Moridin accused. Secretly he was glad of the rope's support. He doubted his legs would hold him in the state his head was in at the moment. She dropped his shirt to the floor.

"Are you Chosen or not? I need to know whether to start grovelling."

"I am. I can assure you of that."

"Which? I know the Great Lord is not…recruiting Chosen at the present. You must be one remade."

"I believe," Moridin replied, feeling a slight smile form on his lips. "That you should be grovelling."

She bowed her head.

"Of course, Great Master." The buxom woman dropped to her knees and touched the floor with her forehead. Moridin flicked his eyes over to Nerim, who was still grinning.

"I thought you were a Dreadlord." The boy told him happily. "I didn't know a _Chosen_ had been sent to save me."

_Idiot._

"Stand up and tell me your name." He told her, and she did so, rising to her feet and looking up at him with green eyes.

"Ilsa Anhara. As you correctly guessed, Black Ajah."

"Now tell me what in the Light is going on."

"Would you like me to untie you, Great Master?" She reached up to do so.

"No. Just talk."

Surprised, she nodded her head once, then began to speak. As he listened to how the _gholam_ had gone to fetch an Aes Sedai to heal a near-dead Cauthon, he felt his body becoming more awake, and thus more painful. However, this was nothing compared to the anger and, strangely, curiosity rising up inside. Ilsa related everything in a factual, if mildly amused tone. The Black Ajah had been ordered to stay low and stay covered, so her decision to heal rather than kill Cauthon had been correct. That job was, supposedly, that of the _gholam_. Not that the creature seemed to want to carry out its orders.

"I didn't know who you were," She told him once the whole sorry tale was finished. "I'd never heard of a Moridin, but then the _gholam_ didn't know who you were either. Been keeping quiet, Great Master?"

"Until now," He growled. "But the Great Lord wanted me to sort this _gholam_ problem personally. Unfortunately the two Chosen who knew best how to handle it are dead. One after being a fool for the second time, and the other…well, with no hope of return." _Curse you, Rahvin_. "After them I'm the best choice."

"I see. So, what's the plan?" She motioned to the three of them. Probably the oddest two helpers Moridin had had. A self-obsessed Darkfriend and a…incredibly loose tongued Black Sister.

"I assume Cauthon and the _gholam_ had no idea what you actually are."

"None." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "So, from what Cauthon said, they're heading out of the city after picking up supplies."

"Tell me something," Moridin nodded his head to her. "If you hadn't been satisfied that I was what I said I was, what would you have done? I can't believe you'd tie a man up like this just to admirer his stomach."

"That depends on the measure of your deception, and your reason for it. If you were lying to help our cause, then I would have untied you and taken off the Shield. If you were lying to get a…kick out of being bowed down to by a _gholam_…I'd probably have done something unpleasant to that stomach." She smiled. "But there is something about you that makes me sure. Added to that the _gholam's_ assurance of you being Chosen…I am sure you are, Great Master."

This Ilsa reminded him of Semirhage. With a thought he burned the ropes holding his wrists in place with the True Power, immediately sagging forward as his stretched calf muscles objected to the weight. His arms burned as the blood rushed back to them. He sat heavily down on the nearest bed, rubbing them. His head gave another unpleasant thump and he looked up at her.

"Ever tie me up again and I'll have you given to a Mryddraal. Understood?"

"Completely, Great master."

"Good. Nerim."

Nerim's eyes brightened and he sat up. "Yes, Moridin?"

Ilsa raised her eyebrows at the used of his name. Moridin ignored it. He had told the boy to call him that, and intended to keep it that way. He didn't want the fool to call him 'Great Master' in front of someone.

"Where were you when I called?"

"Downstairs, distracting the fat innkeeper like you said. But then he found the dead girl and shouted for the guards. I had to stick him, but he fought me and we were fighting as you called. I killed him though, stupid old man."

Moridin rolled his eyes. "I said; distract him to keep attention away from us. Not stab him and have the guards on our heels!" He turned to Ilsa. "Where are the guards now?"

"I dealt with them. There were only three."

"How long ago was that?"

"Ten minutes, maybe. You weren't out long."

"Hit with a chamber pot…" He put a hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody.

"Would you like me to heal you, Great Master?"

Moridin waved to the bed next to him and turned so she could see the wound. She sat down and he felt her fingers touch his scalp; a tingling ran though his body with both the healing and his ability to know when a woman Channelled.

"They won't be heading back to Aringill or Tar Valon, and I can't see Cauthon taking a _gholam_ back towards his birthplace… That leaves Far Madding. We'll have a quick scout of Caemlyn then….we'll have to head south and hope they went that way." His jaw clenched. He hated being unsure like this, hated not knowing.

"Do you want me to go with you, Great Master?"

"It will be hard for you to go back and explain all of this. Better for them to think you dead, then you can turn up later claiming to have been caught in some trouble." He felt her nod and her fingers pulled away from his scalp. His pain was gone, or at least the pain from the wound was gone. The True Power still burned. "Curse that _gholam_. What does it think its doing, protecting him like that? Has it gone mad? _Gholam_ never, ever act like this."

"Perhaps it is something you have not considered?" She suggested. "Perhaps _gholam_ are not as simple as they seem."

"What type of something do you mean?" He bent over and retrieved his shirt.

"It seemed to genuinely care about his welfare. Maybe they have become…friends?"

Moridin gave her a disbelieving look and pulled his shirt on. "A _gholam_? Friends? I don't think so."

"With respect, Great Master, you didn't see how they interacted. And there was something odd…a few things that were said and that happened. Cauthon mentioning that he didn't think it liked women, it killing that tavern girl for no reason."

"It's a _gholam_. It kills."

"Perhaps."

"Out with it. What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure myself…but it just seems obsessed with him. Unwilling to let him go."

"It got really angry with me," Nerim added. "I think it would have killed me, if it could."

"Whatever its reasons, the Great Lord wants it brought back to Shayol Ghul." He stood up and pulled his shirt straight. "While you're with me, call me Moridin. We search the streets until nightfall. If we haven't found them by then…we'll have to head south. Perhaps things will become clearer in time. They usually do."

Ilsa got her feet and Nerim followed.

"We're off then." The boy grinned happily. Ilsa gave him an odd look, but appeared more amused than annoyed by him. Moridin flipped between the two, which the lad should be grateful for. He'd have ended up dead in a ditch several days ago if there wasn't something vaguely useful and entertaining about having Nerim around. Moridin was not completely humourless.

Flicking hair out his eyes, the _saa_ obscuring his vision a little, he strode forward to the door.

Things were never simple.

* * *

"Are you all right, my Lord?" The younger Guard bent down to Mat's side, concerned. 

"No. I'm distinctly not all right. And don't call me Lord." He looked over to him. "I shouldn't have run." He told the bemused Guard. "Why did I run? Why didn't I even stop and think about Rand and his bloody unreliable…ness! It's going to work out where I am. It knows I know Elayne, and I'd bet my manhood that it knows she's in line to rule here. Light burn me, why didn't I think!" He thumped the grass with a fist. "It's going to come in here, pop my arm off, kill Elayne and have done with me once she's stopped twitching!"

The two men looked alarmed. "Someone's trying to kill you both?"

"Yes. It'll be here soon. A _gholam_. It'll get in and tear up anyone in its path."

"What do we do?"

"We can't do anything! It can't be stopped. I need my bloody medallion." Head went back in hands again. "Why is it me you like, you stupid foolish creature? Why couldn't you like some bloody farmgirl that could do the whole romantic thing and look past the bad parts?" He glared down at the grass. "I can't help what I am." He wondered whether he should have actually had this talk with the _gholam_, rather that two of Elayne's Guards. "_Gholam_ aren't supposed to be like this, they're supposed to be…_gholam_! Not people. It's not like I've even kissed a man!" The guards looked at each other. "Well there was that one time…" He stared up at the younger Guard. "But we were very drunk, and no one knew."

"My Lord….maybe we should go inside? See if the Lady will receive you? If there's Shadowspawn we need to alert the Guard."

"There's no bloody point." He didn't care if he was whining. "Better if I'm here on my own, then it might be satisfied with just killing me."

He suddenly found himself pulled to his feet and the younger man shook his shoulders.

"Snap out of it, Cauthon!"

Mat blinked. The fellow was glaring at him. "Tell us what to do!"

He took a deep breath. The lad was right. He couldn't just sit here and let it kill both him and Elayne. No, he needed to do something… He squeezed the man's arm in thanks and gave him a nod.

"All right. Take me to Elayne. Maybe we'll be able to think of something before it gets in."

"I'll stay here," the older Guard puffed his chest. "No Shadowspawn will be making it past me without a fight."

Mat smiled at him and the lad tugged his sleeve. Giving the man a nod they set off at a fast pace toward the Palace building. He remembered his first visit here. The long journey he'd made with Tallanvor through the main corridors, halls and courtyards to meet Morgase. All the colour and silver and gold had been such a shock to him. With a tinge of sadness for innocence lost, riches held no wonder for him anymore. As they passed other Guards and servants the lad nodded and waved to them to show everything was all right. Some of them even recognised him, turning and staring or nudging one another and mouthing the words 'Matrim' or 'Lord Cauthon'. Light he hated being called Lord.

"Where is she?"

"I'm not sure. I'm taking you to someone who'll know." He paused. "This _gholam_ thing…anything we can do to slow it down?"

"No, apart from fight it. But do that and you'll end up dead."

"How do we recognise it?"

"Dark-haired man with a grey coat. Foxhead shaped scar on its cheek. Same height and build as me."

"I'll spread the description."

Mat resisted the urge to tell him he was wasting his time.

They crossed a courtyard and out of the corner of his eye he spotted red hair. Skidding to a halt he snatched the lad's arm to stop him. Walking away from them was the tall figure of Aviendha, her hair now reaching her shoulders.

"AVIENDHA!"

She whipped around, startled by his cry, and her eyes locked on him. "Aviendha!" he ran toward her and she stepped forward, lips parted in shock.

"Matrim Cauthon?"

He almost bowled into her before jerking to a stop and flinging his arms around her neck. She gripped his shoulders and pushed him away so she could look into his face. "You're alive."

"Bloody right I'm alive!" He gave her another quick hug and pulled off, grinning stupidly. So long since he'd seen a friendly face he knew.

"Egwene told us what happened. She said you were probably dead." Aviendha shook her head disbelievingly. "You have good luck, Matrim Cauthon." A smile grew on her face, relief clear.

"Wasn't luck that saved me." He told her. "It was my irresistible charm."

"What do you mean?" She shook her head, confused.

"Never mind. Listen, the _gholam_ is here, in Caemlyn. It's going to be looking for me; I just got away from it."

"It brought you here?" She asked. "Why?"

"It liked my company. But listen, we need to…do something. It's bound to work out where I am now Elayne is here, and she's another of his…its targets."

Her lips went tight. "We will have to fight."

"No! No fighting. We fight, we die. Look, let's go and get Elayne and decide what to do."

Aviendha gave a nod and Mat turned back to the Guard. "Remember the description," he called to him. "If you see it, keep out of its way."

"You'll be all right?" The lad asked, hand on his sword hilt.

"With luck." He smiled and touch Aviendha's arm. "Let's go."

She immediately shot off along the corridor. Bloody Aiel. Mat struggled to keep up with her as she led him through the maze of the Palace. She hopped up a flight of stairs two at a time. Mat started panting and managed to get himself a good stitch by the top. Aviendha didn't pause, just kept running. He refused to ask her to slow. Speed was essential.  
To his relief she slowed after a few more turns and they came to a stop at a large wooden door with golden handles. Mat leaned on his knees, getting his breath back, as she opened up the door and poked her head in.

"Come on." She told him and he forced himself to get moving again. He stepped through into an absolutely huge bedchamber, tapestries on the wall, a deep red carpet on the floor and gold gilding everywhere. He felt rather odd in his tatty clothes and unwashed hair.

"Mat!" A voice squealed, and he turned to meet the smiling face of Elayne, hair loose about her shoulders. "Matrim? You're alive!"

He knuckled his forehead, grinning. She ran to him and threw her arms about him, hugging tightly. "Mother's milk, Mat, we all thought it had killed you! Egwene's in a panic, Rand's apparently furious and the Band are all in denial, refusing to accept you're gone! Except you're not, are you?" She looked up into his face, then kissed his cheek. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"It's good to see you too, Elayne." More out of habit than anything else, he winked. "But I've brought trouble with me. I just escaped from the _gholam's_ hospitality and it's going to be coming after me."

Her face fell. "What? Here?"

"'fraid so. We need to get ourselves somewhere it can't find us." Light he felt like he was running away. Which he was.

"We could open a Gateway somewhere, I suppose. But what about everyone here?"

Mat rubbed the back of his head. She was right, of course. If it couldn't find him it might just kill everyone else out of spite. He couldn't just run and leave it here to obliterate the whole of the Palace's inhabitants. What in the bloody Light could he do? "Mat? What will it do when it can't find us?"

"I need my flaming medallion."

"Egwene has it. She's got that weapon of yours too, and that silly hat."

"It's not sil…" Mat's face dropped and he gripped hold of her urgently. "She's got my medallion?"

Elayne nodded. "You think we should go to her?"

Mat chewed on the inside of his mouth. To run, or to see this out… The decision was already made, really. He couldn't just hide like a naughty child caught stealing a pie. No. The _gholam_ was his responsibility and his…well; he wasn't exactly sure what it was to him. But it was clear that if he was to be able to go back to the Band and get things normal again, the _gholam_ had to be dealt with.

"Elayne, I need you to open a Gateway to Egwene. I need my medallion _right now_. This can't wait."

"But I can't just open it; I might hurt someone on the other side!"

"Light…Elayne if you don't do this everyone here is going to die. Open it close to a wall, or only make a small one to check."

"Mat, I might slice her!"

From the window came a piercing scream. Elayne's blue eyes grew wide.

"Do it!" The scream could have been just someone seeing a rat, but he doubted it.

"Matrim Cauthon," Aviendha called, and he turned. "I'll open it."

"Aviendha!" Elayne cried out, but before she could stop her the Aiel had sliced open the air between them with a Gateway and Mat was staring through into Egwene's office. The Amyrlin herself jumped up from her seat.

"Mat…?" Her face was stunned.

Mat wasted no time. He strode through and put his hands on her desk. She stared at him silently, colour draining from her face. "It didn't kill you. Oh Mat, I thought-"

"Egwene, I'm glad I'm alive too, and I'm betting this is pretty odd thing to happen. But I need my medallion right now. The _gholam _is in the Royal Palace."

Regaining her composure quickly, Egwene looked through the Gateway. Elayne waved at her.

"It's in Caemlyn?" She asked, and ripped open one of her desk drawers.

"Yes."

"You're going to kill it?"

"I'm not sure if I can…but I'll sort this. I won't run away anymore."

Egwene pulled out a familiar leathercord from the drawer, swiftly followed by the silver foxhead itself. She held it out and he snatched it quickly. "Thank you." He turned to go.

"Mat! Rand wants you found! You can't just go swanning off!"

He looked at her over his shoulder. "I'm not swanning off. And you can tell Rand hello, and to give Min a kiss from me."

"Don't you want your _ashandarei_?"

"No. Keep hold of it for me." With that he darted back through the Gateway and whirled on Aviendha. "Close it, quickly. Before the _gholam_ feels you Channelling."

Egwene's white, shocked face snapped out of sight as the Gateway closed.

"Are you going to burn it to a crisp?" Elayne asked, looking at the foxhead. Mat stared at the silver; it felt odd to have it back again.

"We'll see what I can do." He stuffed it, leather cord and all, down his smallclothes.

"What'd you do that for?" She cried. "Not exactly easy access!"

"It's not meant to be. That's why I didn't get the _ashandarei_. I don't want it knowing I've got it."

"What are you going to do?"

"Give it exactly what it wants. My company. Then when it least expects it," He patted his breeches. "Frizzle."

"You can't just go back to it! What if it kills you?"

"It won't. It might rip my arm off, but it won't kill me if I go back willingly."

"Mat!"

He grinned mischievously and gave both women a swift peck on the cheek.

"Keep safe," He told them. "And don't tell _anyone_ that I've got the medallion, unless it's Rand. And then tell him to keep his bloody nose out." Both nodded their agreement, but looked less than happy about it. "I'll be all right." He told them, and knuckling his forehead, jogged out the door. He pelted back the way they had came and down the staircase, almost going head over heals.  
_Where are you?_  
He snatched the sleeve of a servant passing the other way. "What was that scream?" He demanded, and the servant looked him up and down, startled.

"I don't know…my Lord."

Growling in frustration he set off again, heading in the direction that the cry had come from. Maybe it really had been a rat. Perhaps the _gholam_ was still in the Plaza, seeing if he'd come out. Somewhere in the distance there was another tortured scream, high and piercing. Teeth on edge he pushed his legs faster. That had come from the near the pool with fish in it, where he had first seen Morgase. Praying he wouldn't get lost he swung down another hall toward it. Maybe he could stop the bloody thing before the death toll got too high.

He tripped over a step and went flying, crashing into a table and sending a china bowl tumbling to the floor. Cursing he got to his feet, boots crunching the shattered china as he ran on. Bloody stupid place to put an ornament. He jumped over the next step and out into a courtyard, where he passed two servants running terrified in the opposite direction. He was probably heading the right way, at least.  
A cry rung out, closer this time, somewhere up ahead. Mat's chest felt like it was about to burst as he dashed across the courtyard and down a hall with long colourful tapestries of animals on the wall. A sobbing, desperate voice sounded over to his right and he skidded to a halt.

"Please…I don't know!"

Through a gilded archway was the courtyard with the pool of fish. He could almost imagine Morgase sat there on the edge, Rahvin at her side. But instead of a Queen and Forsaken the _gholam_ was stood there, hands gripping hold of a serving girl. Its face was splattered with blood and it was snarling. The girl was crying, trying to push it away. "Let me go!"

Mat stepped out into the courtyard and moved around to be in front of its sight.

"_Gholam_…"

Its furious eyes flicked up and locked on him. Its snarl deepened, but to Mat's relief it threw the girl aside. She screamed and ran for her life. "Are you looking for me?" He asked, keeping his voice quiet and steady. The _gholam_ advanced on him, lips drawn back from gritted teeth. A mess of red gore stained its hand. Mat stepped back, suddenly afraid that he had been wrong. That it really would kill him this time, that he'd pushed it too far.

His back bumped into the smooth wall of the Palace and he could back away no further.

* * *

**tbc...**


	17. Aftermath

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat's first instinct was to reach up to his chest where the medallion would be. But as his fingers just started to move he remembered that it was no where near his chest, and if he went for where the foxhead really was then the _gholam_ might think he'd had some sort of sexual awakening.

Its gore-stained hand reached out, fingers flexed, and a glob of something dark and viscous dripped to the ground. Mat's stomach churned and he unconsciously pressed harder into the wall, seeking someway back. The _gholam's_ hair was a messy, dark curtain; for a brief second Mat remembered his hair looking like that after first being bedded by Tylin. The spots of blood on the creature's face sat there like accusing eyes, staring at him as if to say, _you ran. You left. Now see what you made it do_, and when he stared into its own furious hazel ones he saw the same accusation mirrored.

He felt the sudden want to weep.

Its teeth glinted, the bow of its top lip distorted by the twisted rage that drew it back. Maybe it was going to bite him. Sink those teeth into his throat; make him scream apologies until it was satisfied he could never run away again.

Its hands pressed into his shoulders, driving him into the stone. Mat's mouth fell open in pain and he narrowed his eyes as if expecting a punch. The _gholam's_ head arched forward until its nose was almost touching his. He could smell it. Smell the blood and the ale and the mustiness of the room at the Red Bull. No scent of the _gholam_ itself, though; like a piece of glass it was completely blank of its own smell. For an insane moment he wondered if it had any body fluids at all; saliva, tears, sweat…

Then he realised he was panting. Shallow sharp gasps of air that made his chest dart up and down in a rapid jagged rhythm. He could feel no breath from the _gholam_. No, all pretence of being human had been dropped now. It just stared at him, pinning him still. Mat could see so many emotions flick through its eyes. Anger was at the forefront, but behind that was hurt. Betrayal. They spoke to him more strongly than even those drops of blood. They asked him _why?_

He wanted it to speak. To say something, anything. Hiss at him that it was going to kill him. Accuse him of breaking his word. Even gloat about how many it had killed getting to him. Anything was better than this silent, awful gaze.

Something trickled down his cheek and for a second he thought it was his own dishevelled hair. But then he realised it was a tear, slipping slowly down his face like a burning line of guilt. He did not know why he wept. Whether for himself, the people who had died, or the _gholam's_ betrayed trust.

"I'm sorry."

The most useless, shallow and meaningless word in the whole of the flaming world slipped from his lips before he could stop it. The _gholam_ gave a deep animalistic growl of hatred and the pressure on his shoulders increased. Mat hissed in agony, eyes screwed up. But somehow he felt he deserved this pain, in a way, because he'd broken his word. He'd made a deal then gone against it; and Mat Cauthon never broke a promise. His hands reached up and pressed against the planes of the _gholam's_ chest, but he might as well have been a child for all the good it did.

"You are a liar." Its voice had lost its calm. There was an edge of deep, shaking violence with the words now, as if it was only a step away from tearing him to pieces. It had never sounded so out of control, and that scared Mat more than if it was actually hurting him.

"I know. I know I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I-"

Its bloody hand was suddenly gripping his jaw, pressing his head back into the wall, fingers dug into the bone. Man moaned, words cut off, teeth clacked together.

"You are _not_ sorry. You hope to appease me by apologising. Hope I will not hurt you if you sound regretful. I will not fall for your lies, _Matrim Cauthon_." Its eyes flicked to his right arm and Mat's stomach gave a great lurch. "I will make sure you will never run again. Never fight again. I told you what would happen if you left me."

Mat moaned again, eyes staring at it, begging silently for it to forgive him. It gazed back at him, eyebrows drawn together, lips still twisted. Mat wanted nothing more than for it to just tilt its head and give him a smile.

_Please don't tear off my arm…Light, please…_

Its hand whipped away from his jaw and grasped hold of his bicep. He could feel it twisting at the arm socket, not painful yet…but it would be…  
Gasping he clutched hold of hand. He could feel clots of blood on his chin. He slipped his fingers between its own, hoping to slow the tearing. He stopped pushing at its chest with his other hand and instead reached up to hold its cheek, thumb just touching its bottom lip.

"Don't…" His breath was ragged, voice tight. "Please don't."

"Why should I not, Matrim Cauthon? You have…betrayed me." Its head did tilt then, but did not smile. Its mouth was so close to his own that he almost breathed in its words.

"I came back."

It paused. Encouraged, Mat curled his fingers round its hand, squeezing, and his thumb stroked across the side of its lip. "I ran, but I came back." He licked his lips; they felt dry and cracked.

The _gholam_ did not reply. It stood there holding and watching him as his chest heaved, heart racing. He knew it was deciding. Knew it wanted to punish him. "I promise, _gholam_." He whispered. "I will never try and run away from you again."

"You are mine." It growled and lent forward, arching its head into him, cheek against cheek. "Mine."

_What am I doing…?_

"Please, let me go."

It took a breath and he felt the air from between its lips tickle his ear as it spoke.

"You will not forget my displeasure, Matrim Cauthon. I do not tear you only because you returned willingly. But you forced me to come after you, come into this building with many people and harvest my way through men with weapons."

_How many dead? How many men are dead because of me?_

"You…you killed people?"

"Yes." It pulled its entwined hand away from his bicep and held it up in front of Mat's nose. Blood, ripped tissue and bits of Light knew what clung to its skin. His stomach gave another warning churn. "I would not have harvested them, but you made me find you again. You will not forget what you have done." With a savage snarl that made Mat flinch back, its hand whipped forward and grasped hold of his jaw again, but instead of forcing it closed it worked two fingers into his mouth in a disgusting mimic of what it had done in the White Tower cell. But that had been accompanied by an act of honour and mercy. This was pure revenge. Or rather, in the _gholam's_ eyes perhaps, a just punishment for leaving.

It took a second for the bittersweet metallic taste of the blood to resister and the awful, soft but gritty feel of the strings of tissue to press against his tongue. He retched but held back from sicking up. He'd had dead men's blood in his mouth before, he reasoned. Battle was ugly and filthy, and the stuff got everywhere. But this…this was so different. "Taste what I taste, Matrim Cauthon." It growled into his ear and Mat realised he was moaning, jaw forced open, and its fingers stroked over his tongue. "You will never forget. And you will never leave me."

Tears had leaked down his face and wetted both his neck and handkerchief and the _gholam_ skin. He felts its other hand release his shoulder and move up to stroke his jaw line; it fingers settle in the wetness between throat and collar bone. A string of something fleshy dislodged from its forefinger and rested at the back of his mouth. Mat struggled to stop himself from vomiting, but it was a losing battle. "You will never be free of me."

Mat's throat convulsed and the _gholam's_ hands pulled away. Mat found himself on his knees sicking up over the stone as it watched him silently. He could not stop. No matter how much he vomited the taste didn't seem to go; the feel of that bit at the back of his mouth wouldn't leave him. Then the _gholam_ was beside him, bent down on its haunches, and its hand was rubbing his back as he heaved his guts up, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades; like he had when it was ill after drinking the wine. And slowly the endless retching abated. Gasping for air he managed to look at it over his shoulder, mouth hung open. The snarl was finally gone and its neutral expression back on its face.

"I'm sorry." He choked out, but whether that was to the _gholam_ or all the people it had killed getting to him, he didn't know. Slowly, it nodded.

"Yes."

It stood up and moved over to the pool of fish. Mat watched as it dipped its hands into the water, washing them clean, then brought some up to its face and rubbed away the drops there. Once done it took a handful of water and bent down to him again. Mat knelt there, feeling empty and defeated, watching it with sore, puffy eyes. Gently it brought the cool water to his mouth and wiped his lips and chin clean. "You are strong, Matrim Cauthon." It told him as it rubbed under his chin. "The strongest human I have met. None I have known would have returned."

Shouts came from somewhere in front of them and Mat pushed himself to his feet unsteadily.

"We need to go before they see us. They'd probably bring me down trying to get to you."

It rose to its feet and rubbed its wet hands on its britches. For the first time Mat realised the light was fading as evening wore on. "We need to get out of this Palace."

"There are many Guards."

Mat looked about trying to work out which way the garden was. Hazarding a guess he pointed into the hallway in front of them.

"This way." He began to run, worried that the movement might make him start sicking up once more, but to his great relief it did the opposite and he began to feel a little better. The _gholam_ followed close behind.

"Where are we going?" It asked as Mat looked up and down the hallway and headed in the direction that felt familiar.

"The garden. If we're lucky less people will be there and we can get up over the wall and away." He dodged through a door, and the cries of the guards grew fainter. In front he saw a tapestry he recognised and sped faster. Soon he flew out a large arched doorway and almost went head over heals as a step ended themarble floor, giving way to a paved path.He skidded to a halt and the _gholam_ drew up short and inch behind him. He pointed across the garden at the wall. "Over there."

It moved to his side and scanned the flowers, shrubs and bushes. Its nostrils flared as it took in the scents around.

"Pretty." It said. Mat glanced at it but decided now was not the time to analyse its actions. At a brisk pace he led the _gholam_ to the end of the garden, trying to stay in the shadows of foliage. Although the _gholam_ could deal with anyone they might meet he didn't want to see more men killed. Up ahead the older Guard that had put the sword to his neck was still at the bottom of the wall, looking grim and stubborn. "Blood and ashes…" He muttered, rubbing the back of hishair as they stood behind a bush. The _gholam_ tilted its head. "I know that man…I don't think he'll move. Let me try and talk to him."

Mat stepped out into view and the Guard drew his sword.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Mat Cauthon." He moved into the light and raised both hands into view.

"By the Light, my Lord, I heard screaming. Did you get that thing?"

"I've got it with me. Listen, you must let us get over the wall or it'll cut you down."

"What? Where is it?"

Mat turned and motioned to the bush. The _gholam_ moved into view, face set. Mat knew that look; it would escape, guard or no guard. "If you won't let us leave it'll kill you." Mat pleaded with his eyes. "Please, don'tprovoke it. I don't want to have to fight to save your arse."

He jumped when the _gholam's_ hand fell on his shoulder, holding him lightly.

"He is not lying." It spoke to the Guard with its soft voice, and gave him a smile. The fellow looked torn.

"But I can't let you go into the city with that thing! It'll kill everyone."

"It won't. I promise you." Mat reached out his hand and took a gentle hold of sword blade with two fingers. Ever so slowly he pushed it down to point at the ground. "Please, let us go."

"I can't." The fellow stood up firm and the sword rose up again, this time pointing at the _gholam's _chest. "Step aside."

Mat wanted to scream at him. The _gholam's_ hand left his shoulder and it suddenly whipped forward, grasped the blade with both hands and ripped it from the startled Guard's hold. The hilt swungaround as the _gholam_ drew back the sword like a club and hit the fellow's conical helmet hard enough to dent the metal. The man gave a cry and stumbled against the wall. Mat stared at the creatures hands. The blade had almost cut through its palms. The Guard slumped to the ground, groaning.

"Quickly." It told him, and held the hilt out for him to take. Shaking, Mat took it and the deep gashes in the _gholam's_ tissue closed over. He held the sword uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with it. "You do not like swords?" It asked.

"Not for me to wield."

"Leave it." It told him, and he did so, dropping it to the ground. With a last glance to make sure the Guard wasn't seriously hurt, he began to scramble up the tree that grew only a short distance from the wall. The _gholam _followed with much more grace than he. After several grazes and splinters he got as far up as he could manage and lent forward to grab the wall. He felt it hold his ankles. With a growl of annoyance he got a grasp of the walland wiggled so it was under hisarms. The _gholam_ let go and he swung out. With a scrabble of boot against stone he hauled himself up and sat on the top, panting. The _gholam_ coiled its body back and jumped, landing cat-like next to him.

He looked down the steep slope. Thankfully the walkway beneath was as empty as when he'd climbed up; only some tearing at the flowers gave away that he'd been there. Taking a deep breath he put his boots down on the grass and tried to make his way down on his backside. The _gholam_ grasped the back of his collar and they skidded down together, Mat's eyes widened as he just waited for them both to go tumbling down onto the hard stone, but the shadowspawn was digging its fingers into the earth as they went, leaving gouges in the grass and flowers and keeping them upright. Mat gave a sigh of relief as his boots hit the walkway, but he could just imagine the seat of his breeches - muddy and grass-stained. The _gholam_ landed beside him lightly.

Mat pushed his hair back from his face and glanced at it _gholam_. He'd made a promise now, and he intended to keep it. But this meant there was only one way he'd be able to go back to his own life, and that way was stuffed down his smallclothes, pressed against his hip. Somehow or another he needed to work out how to lock it up again, but that was impossible on his own. His chest tightened. If it couldn't be restrained it would have to be stopped, and stopped permanently.

The medallion seemed to burn against his flesh, reminding him of how scared it had been when it thought he was going to shove the silver down its throat.

For the first time Mat gave into the nasty, sneaking feeling that had been growing the past few days - That if faced with actually killing the _gholam_ he would be no more successful than the timeat Ebou Dar harbour.

He mentally cursed himself. He should have finished the _gholam_ that day;before things became so bloody complicated, and his own emotions so confusing.

* * *

**tbc...**


	18. The Ball and Hoop

**Sorry for the break, guys. I've got a resit exam this Monday (note to self, pass first time next summer) and have had to revise a very long and tedious module. However, I've also taken some time to work out exactly where I'm going with this fic, and I now know exactly what I'm doing and what'll happen. I figure at this late stage in the fic it can only be a good thing.  
So, onwards and upwards.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters. I am getting no money from this.**

* * *

Mat grinned and lent forward to get a better view of the juggler, and propped his chin on his palm, head lazily tilted to one side. The _gholam_ sat to his right, hands cupped around the glass of water it had bought. Not that it would actually drink the stuff, but it was better to look like it was at least partly normal; even though the innkeeper had seemed a little disgusted when Mat had told him that his friend never drunk alcohol.

They had decided on their walk back into the New City that leaving Caemlyn at this time of day would look suspicious, so a night at another inn was the best idea. Mat couldn't help but wonder if he'd finally get an uninterrupted rest this time. They seemed to be cursed when choosing taverns, what with Darkfriends and Forsaken. The jolly Ball and Hoop was to be their stopping point, partly chosen because it was a good way away from the Red Bull, and also because the common room was a noisy, happy and above all crowded place where Guards would be likely to miss them if they came searching.

To Mat's pleasant surprise there was a bard, juggler and attractive dancer to entertain the crowd. Luckily he and the _gholam_ had managed to get in and buy some drink and board before the main bulk of people came in; so they had a seat. A lot of people were now standing and laughing with their friends; some drunk, some getting there. Mat had a mug of ale in front of him that he had decided to make last the evening. Nothing better than a nice drink and good entertainment to forget about the horrors of the day.

He gave a chuckle as the juggler added another dagger to the whirling circle of gleaming weapons in his hands, making six altogether. The bard played a thumping tune to match the rhythm of the throws and the prettily plump dancer whirled about, wiggling her hips. The raised platform was a small performance space, but Mat thought the three of them were doing a fine job. He had the suspicion they were family, as they bore a resemblance; at a guess the bard being the father, and juggler and dancer brother and sister.

The crowd gave a delighted gasp as the juggler feinted almost missing a dagger, but instead added a seventh from the table at his side with lightening fast hands. Mat's grin widened and he took a sip of ale as he glanced at the _gholam_. It was staring enraptured at the trio, lips parted in fascination. It had been like that the past ten minutes. Its expression was actually rather amusing. Mat gave it a gentle nudge with his elbow and it turned; Mat laughed as its wide eyes faced him. It looked so bemused.

"You alright there?" he asked, still with his knuckles holding his chin up. It gave him a slow nod. "Not seen a juggler before?" It shook its head and Mat laughed again. "Carry on watching then, he's bound to do something entertainingly dangerous."

Its head swung back round to watch. Mat followed suit, but his eyes were on the girl. Her long, wavy black hair whipped about her face as she moved; her tilted eyes and strong nose gave away her Saldaean roots. The lad juggling was the same, except his hair was cut at his shoulders. They were both very appealing to look at, and gnawing the inside of his mouth Mat decided to try a little test. He leaned closer to the _gholam's_ ear. "What do you think of her?" he whispered. The _gholam_ replied without looking at him

"Who?"

"The girl! The dancer, with the hair." He saw its eyes flick to her, then back to the juggling.

"She does not Channel."

Mat shook his head "No. What do you _think_ of her?"

"I…" It frowned a little, now distracted. "I do not think anything of her. She does not Channel, she is of no interest to me."

"Light…" Mat took another sip of ale. "What I mean is, do you think she's pretty?"

It turned its head around and gave him a searching look.

"Are you drunk, Matrim Cauthon?"

"No! Look," he waved his hand at the girl. "Watch those hips, bottom. Don't you think she's nice to look at? Good to have a cuddle with?"

It glanced at those hips, bottom, then Mat again.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have no interest in cuddling with women." Mat could almost hear the unsaid '_unlike you'_. He sat up straight and lent back against the wall.

"Alright then. What about the lad?" He nodded to the still-juggling Saldaean.

"What about him?" The _gholam's_ thumb rubbed against the outside of its glass.

"What do you think of him?" This was like getting blood out of a stone.

"He also cannot Channel."

Mat was going the throttle it in a minute.

"Do you think he's…I don't know…good looking?"

"He is physically pleasing," it told him. "You are asking odd questions."

"Would you want to give him a kiss?" Mat pressed.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I do not wish to."

"Blood and ashes…" Mat rubbed his temples. His test was turning into a frustratingly difficult inquisition.

"Why are you questioning me?" It leant back too, head turned toward him, eyes full of curiosity. "Do you wish to kiss with him?"

"No! I was just wondering about your…tastes."

"You wish to know what I find sexually attractive?"

Mat paused. "Yes, I guess so."

It gave him a mildly disturbing smile and brought the glass of water up to its lips. It mimed taking a drink, eyes smiling at him over the rim. Mat began to feel vaguely ridiculous. "Since it looks like you and me are going to be…travelling together for a while I thought that it would be a good idea to find out about that sort of thing. We spoke about it a little before that Darkfriend stabbed me, but you never really said." _Stop babbling. _"You know about me, obviously. I just want to know whether to expect you to, I don't know, start talking to pretty girl."

It lowered the glass and cupped its hands around the stem again.

"I will not be speaking to pretty girls," it glanced over at the juggler. "Or boys."

"Right. Well that's settled then." Mat went to push his hat back when he remembered he didn't have one. Maybe he'd been wrong about the _gholam's _intentions after all. "You're not a lust-driven creature, then."

"No."

"Not at all interested?"

It examined him silently, not giving a reply. He took another drink of ale. "Have you slept with anyone?"

"No."

"Can you?" Mat realised what he'd said. "What I mean is, you're Shadowspawn and I'm not sure how exactly you're made up. I know you're male and that there were three male _gholam_, but I don't know if Aginor made it so you couldn't." _Shut up Mat. _"Not that I don't think you look male. You do. It's just that I haven't seen you naked."

The _gholam_ was looking at him calmly. "I don't know if you've got the parts to actually be able to have some fun with a woman."

"I like it when you speak," it said. "Your eyes get round." It turned away and watched the juggler, who had put down his daggers.

Mat just sat there feeling incredibly stupid. He'd just asked the _gholam_ if it had its own manhood. He shook his head and slumped forward to lean on his fist again. Conversation with the _gholam_ was not easy.

"I just made an idiot of myself, didn't I?" he sighed. It glanced at him and gave one of its smiles.

"Yes."

Light he wanted his hat. Somewhere to retreat to.

"I'll take it you could then, in theory." He watched as the juggler stepped aside and the bard began playing a merry tune. People began to dance.

"Perhaps. I do not know. I look completely human, but I am…unaware of my capabilities."

Mat nodded, taking this all in. He noticed that it had only avoided answering one question: whether it was interested in relations or not. That was a bad sign. "You are interested?" it asked him, and tilted its head curiously. Mat gave it a grin.

"One track mind," he replied. "I'm nosey. Do you mind?"

"No. I find conversation…difficult, but pleasant."

"Better than fighting, anyway. Had enough of that for a while." He took another sip and waved his mug around at the people. "So, is there anyone in here you find good-looking?"

"There is."

"Who's that? Personally I like her." He nodded his head toward a golden-haired girl with a suggestive smile on her lips. The _gholam_ blinked slowly.

"She is…pouty."

Mat laughed. "Bloody right she is. Needs a kiss on that pout," he grinned. "Wouldn't mind a dance with her."

"You dance a lot," it told him.

"I do. Give a girl a good whirl around and you'll often get rewarded for your skill. But if she wants nothing more than a dance, then I'm happy too. I just like to make them smile." And that was true. There were few things he hated more than a man who wouldn't take no for an answer. "Nothing better than a jig to cheer you up."

"I do not know how."

"Pah, it's easy," Mat waved his hand dismissively. "Just move well and don't trip over your own feet. You'd be a natural; I've never even seen you stumble, except when you were really starving. You've got good balance," he raised his eyebrows. "So, come on. Who in here would you like to have a dance with?"

"You know the answer to that question, Matrim Cauthon," it replied quietly. Mat looked at it. He'd been right after all, then.

"Yes," he watched the couples whirl around together, faces smiling. "Yes, I think I do."

* * *

Mat laughed and clapped his hands in rhythm with the fast, jolly song the girl and bard were performing. The second mug of ale of the evening sat guiltily empty in front of him; but everything was so cheerful and the _gholam_ in such a good mood that Mat hadn't been able to resist another drink. The _gholam_ itself wasn't clapping, but it was watching everything with an interested, calm gaze. To Mat, and he guessed he was the person most able to tell now, it seemed quite happy. Perhaps it liked the music, or maybe just the conversations they were having on and off between songs. Odd how they got on, sometimes; when it wasn't trying to scare him half to death.

Mat recognised the song. It was one of the ones from home and he could remember hopping about to with Rand when they were boys. He chuckled at a vivid memory of spinning round and round with Rand, hands clasped together, until they both fell over and promptly sicked up. Good times.

The _gholam_ glanced at him then his two empty mugs.

"This inn makes you laugh," it said. Mat nodded in reply, still clapping.

"It's good to relax. It's been a bad day."

It paused. "Because of me?"

"Well, yes. But it was partly my fault," Mat shrugged. "While we're with each other I guess we both ought to be more tolerant." Its head cocked to one side at his words and it laced its hands together on the table.

"Yes. You are teaching me many things. I…" It frowned. "I should not have cut you."

Mat stopped clapping and examined its face. Was it apologising? He blinked. It would never stop surprising him, he guessed.

"I've had a lot of close shaves," he replied. "Just, please, don't do it again. It bloody hurts, it's horrible and I feel like cattle."

"I will try not to." With that it unbuttoned its top pocket and reached two fingers in. Mat watched as it pulled out the pearl-handled razor from the blacksmith shop. It placed it down on the table by Mat's mug. He stared down at it and picked it up, examining the skill in the making. There were small leaf-like patterns carved into the pearl that he hadn't noticed before.

"This is…it's from that shop," he looked at the _gholam's_ face. "Did you run out with it?"

"Yes. I had intended to pay the female for it, but I could not find her. Then I realised you were gone and forgot it was in my hand."

"You need to shave or something?" Mat ventured, thumb rubbing over the handle.

"No. My hair does not grow."

"That explains why I've never seen you with stubble," he tapped the razor. "Why'd you want this, then?"

"It is for you."

"Oh. Right." Mat blinked in surprise. "A man only needs one razor. Even if the other one sliced my arm open."

"It is a…present." The _gholam_ looked slightly uncomfortable and turned away. Mat stared, mind clicking into place. He gave it a gentle nudge and it peered at him over its shoulder.

"Thank you. It's a nice gift. Shame it's stolen, but that can't be helped. What's the occasion?"

"Occasion?" It repeated, unsure. Mat slipped the razor into his pocket.

"Yes. Reason for giving gifts. Birthday and so on."

"Is it your birthday?"

"Not even close." Mat grinned.

"Then there is no occasion. It is just a present."

Mat dreaded to think what this would mean in Aiel custom. He had the nasty suspicion that when Rand had given Aviendha a bracelet it meant they were courting, or something similar. But that vein would make him the woman, which was just silly.

"I don't have anything to give you."

"I did not expect anything."

Mat sat there and watched the people pattern-dancing. He hummed a little to himself and tapped his foot, itching to get up, grab a girl and have a go. But he had the idea that the _gholam_ would not appreciate being left there. The creature's hair was still a state; it looked like it had been tree-climbing all day and then casually decided to comb it backward for good measure. Its coat was also rather dirty and face a bit smudged. Then he realised he probably looked much the same. Before going to bed he'd enquire about baths, he decided. Smiling to himself he guessed that none of the girls would want to dance with a scruff like him anyway.

That left the one person in the room he suspected would if he asked. Life certainly was ironic sometimes. The feel of both the medallion and the razor burned into him and he was torn; in an odd way he did want to dance with it. He'd done so with several men in the Band and had a good time. It wasn't a sensual thing.

On the other hand it was a killer, his captor and Shadowspawn. Plus he might encourage it into thinking he was interested in it…kissing him or something. Which he wasn't.

But he was helplessly intrigued by what it would look like pattern-dancing. A laugh rose up and broke through his lips at a very stupid mental image of it doing so. Mat wondered if he'd gone temporarily insane. The _gholam_ watched him curiously. "Are you drunk now?" it asked, peering into the mugs again.

"No, I'm not drunk." He stood up and its eyes followed him. "Fancy a dance?"

"I do not know how."

"I can show you."

"I have no one to dance with."

"Me, you idiot. Come on, get up." He motioned for it to do so and slid out from behind the table and into a clear space on the floor, not stopping to give it chance to turn him down. Before he could think over what he'd just done it was standing in front of him, looking ever so slightly uncomfortable. The foxhead on its cheek stared at him. "All right then," Mat smiled at it and waved about at the other people. "See what they're doing?" It nodded. "We just follow the same steps. It's simple. Follow my lead."

Mat let his old instincts take over. He found that dancing, like using the _ashandarei_ or giving girls winks, came as naturally as breathing. As his feet moved over the floor and the swell of the music filled his head he felt a happy calmness grow in his mind. He could forget the terrible things that had happened; the bloodshed and the death. And he found himself grinning at the _gholam_ as his body slipped into the rhythm, flowing along with the other people with their laughter and care-free cries of delight. The _gholam_ was watching him, following his steps and keeping close to him. It was smiling, and Mat realised that its physical presence was no longer the worry it had been. Oh he was still nervous around it. It was still unpredictable, possibly rather insane and totally obsessed with him, but so what? For now all that mattered was the dance, and the fact that it was his partner. And they would make the best bloody couple in the whole of the Ball and Hoop.

As the dance demanded he reached out and took its hands, fingers locked together. The scars from the medallion ran white across its knuckles, but he gave them only a little thought before meeting its eyes again. Its cheeks were flushed. How that was achieved without blood Mat didn't know and didn't really care at the moment. For some strange reason dancing well with the _gholam_ was now linked with whether he'd get out of this whole sorry mess alive and permanently unharmed.

As they turned about he watched the other people, their steps matching his, and he wondered what they were thinking. Whether they cared that he and the _gholam_ were partners or if they didn't even notice. Chances were that no one was even giving them a second glance.

The _gholam_ misstepped and stood on his toes, but he barely felt anything. It was so light; all that strength with hardly any weight… it really was a fantastic creation. It skipped off his foot and gave him an almost embarrassed smile. Mat just continued grinning. It was learning, and he knew that despite the mistake they were dancing bloody well. It was picking up the pattern quickly, body flowing with his own.

For the first time in a good week Mat felt totally elated, and for a few minutes he was just a farmboy again, hopping about to music with his friend.

* * *

**tbc...**


	19. Two stories

**The denoument doth approach.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat stumbled in through the door and promptly tripped over the bed post. He fell flat on his face, legs splayed out, and gave a small moan. The floor was _hard_. And it hurt.

"Matrim Cauthon," the _gholam_ shut the door behind itself and kneeled down at his side, head cocked. "You have fallen over."

Mat's eyes rolled over to look at it, and he gave a short laugh.

"I know," he tried to push himself up but failed miserably. "I can't get up from being fallen over. From fall_ing_ over."

The _gholam_ sat down and crossed its legs, watching him. Mat grinned. "My nose hurts."

"You are drunk, Matrim Cauthon."

"Not!" Mat protested and attempted to get up again. "Hardly had anything."

"You had six mugs of ale and no food. I am aware of the affect alcohol has on the human body. You are drunk, and your movement and thought processes are now inhibited."

Mat wrinkled his nose. "You sound like my mother."

The _gholam_ smiled. "Then your mother was more sensible than you."

"Oh shut up." Mat turned his head away and closed his eyes. He felt sleepy, and right now the floor seemed to be getting more comfortable with each second despite the dust he was breathing in. "Leave me alone. I'm sleeping."

"You are not staying there." It told him.

"Am."

"Not."

"Am."

"Not."

Mat glared to himself.

"You're bloody stubborn."

"You are bloody drunk," It replied in calm tones and got to its feet. "Dancing must make you very happy."

"Dancing…" Mat opened his eyes again, thinking. Just how many dances had they danced? Enough for each tune to bleed into one another, at least.

"Yes. You smile a lot and laugh." It moved around him and went down on its haunches. Mat tried to look at it through the top of his head but discovered that, strangely, he couldn't. How irritating.

"It was nice. Good to have fun. But I'm tired now."

"Then you will sleep," it slipped its hands under his arms and started to pull him up. Mat glared at it but didn't struggle; struggling meant effort.

It picked him up bodily and held him like a husband would his newly married wife. Mat gave a weak giggle and shut his eyes again. This was much more comfortable than the floor, and warmer too. He nuzzled his head into the _gholam's_ neck and decided that this would make an excellent place to stay. Something in the back of his mind protested, but he squished it down. Rationality wasn't appreciated right now.

The _gholam _froze, its eyes just a little wider than usual, and its grip on Mat tightened.

"Matrim Cauthon, you are…" It paused, as if unsure of what word to use. Mat smiled into its skin.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Its thumb ran over the fabric of his shirt.

"Call me that all the time. Everyone else calls me Mat, unless they're angry with me." He sighed contentedly. "Are you always angry with me?"

"No." It stepped around and stood by the bed.

"So why'd you do it?"

"I do not know." It lowered him down and Mat protested. His face was now cold.

"Don't!"

"You cannot sleep there." It set his head on the pillow and sat by his side. Mat pushed his face into the bedding.

"Why not?"

"You are inquisitive when drunk." It unbuckled his boots and pulled them off.

"Always inquisitive." He wriggled under the sheets and pulled them up to his chin.

"Do you often get drunk?" It asked and got up again.

"No. Don't think so. Don't like it, I sick up." He snorted happily to himself. "This is good though. Dancing, pretty girls, tasty ale, fun music, insane killer _gholam_ to whirl with."

It set the boots on the floor and fetched the wash basin from the corner.

"You are going to be sick." It told him. Mat shook his head defiantly.

"Won't."

The _gholam_ sat down in the little wooden chair next to the bed, wash basin on its lap, and watched him. Mat looked up at the lack of reply and narrowed his eyes at it. "You don't believe me."

It shook its head and Mat gave determined nose wrinkle. "I'm not going to. You'll see."

The _gholam_ crossed its legs at the ankles and waited.

* * *

Rand's own ghostly pale face looked back at him from the window. Outside it had just begun to rain and the darkness was almost complete. The small candle he had burning at his side made the glass hard to see through, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had come to the conclusion two nights ago that Mat was probably dead. If that was so then things were not looking up for the Dragon Reborn's cause. He knew that it needed all three _ta'veren_ to be alive to fight and win the war, but Perrin was off risking his life with the Shaido and Mat had been taken. If Perrin got himself killed, that left him alone.

Rand's shoulders slumped a little and the face in the glass grew tired and drawn. Everything was being taken away from him, bit by bit.

'_Friends, companions, acquaintances, lovers. All gone, all killed. Always alone in the end.'_

Rand could no longer decide if he hated, or was glad of, Lews Therin's company. _'Always alone,'_ the man hissed in his head.

'_Shut up.'_

He rubbed his eyes. It was late and he should be sleeping, but there were so many things that kept spinning round and round in his head he just couldn't let his mind rest. So many things to do. There was always the chance that Mat wasn't dead, in which case hope wasn't completely lost. If the Shadowspawn had taken him then it stood to reason that it might be happy to keep him as its pet for a while. Problem was, Rand didn't know whether to wish for that or not. He didn't think being the plaything of a _gholam_ could be pleasant.

'Gholam _don't have playthings, madman. Kill kill kill is all they do. Death and destruction, like us.'_ Lews Therin giggled. '_Rivers of blood. So many dead. I killed so many.' _The giggling subsided and he sounded almost sane. '_We pretend to be right and just, but we're nothing but killers ourselves.'_

'_That's different.'_

'_You keep telling yourself that, madman.' _Therin chuckled bitterly. '_When you end up standing in the middle of a charred battle field, full of the bodies of children, you tell yourself it was all for the good. Mesaana always was resourceful.'_

Rand sat there in silence and stared down at the dragons on his arms. One for him and one for Lews Therin. He wondered if the man's moods matched his own. Right now he felt pretty bloody low and Therin seemed to be the same.

Sometimes he hated himself.

'_No point doing that,' _Therin giggled again. '_Plenty of people to do the hating for you.'_

Rand squared his shoulders, face hardening. He was right, of course. No time for self-pity, or doubting his own cause. He was the Dragon Reborn and just had to do what he was born to do, and that was that.

He put a hand to his hair. Sometimes he had trouble recognising himself when he looked in the mirror. His face had aged over the past year; laughter lines smoothing out and frown lines becoming more dominant. And there was hair, dyed black as it was, which was still a shock when he caught sight of it. But it stopped him being instantly recognised, which was appreciated on occasion. Sometimes it was good to become a 'normal' person again; ignored in a crowd and looked over as nothing to bother with. That only trouble was the shade was exactly that of Mazrim Taim's, with a deep blue tint, and that just stirred bad, hateful memories of verbal battles and the impending war he and the Saldaean would fight; whether that be a personal one or one between Logain's Asha'man and Taim's. Nothing was ever simple.

A gentle knock at the door made him look up and he pulled on the robe next to him. As he stood up he belted it loosely round the waist.

"Come in."

The door opened and the willowy Aes Sedai that had told him about Mat's disappearance stepped in. Her hair was pulled back and tied in a loose pile on the top of her head, as if riding or travelling.

"Lord Dragon," She opened her hands to him in a welcoming gesture and he gave her a quick nod. "We've had news. Odd, but good."

"About Mat?" Rand turned his back on her and stepped over to a half-empty bottle of wine.

"Yes. He's alive. Or was a few hours ago."

He poured out two glasses and handed her one. She held it tightly in a hand and sipped as Rand watched her, leant against the window sill. "The _gholam_; it turned up. It came to a group of sisters in Caemlyn and asked for healing help for Mat."

Rand stared at her silently and took a drink. She looked hopeful and excited. Rand guessed that in the brief time she had spent with Mat she had grown to like him, as most people did. "One of the sisters, Ilsa, she went with it to go and help. The group she was with reported back to the Tower as soon as possible. Last we heard, Ilsa hadn't returned."

Rand watched her over the top of his glass as he drank. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he set the glass down on the sill.

"What's your name?"

"Maritel."

"Maritel…_gholam_ don't go to Aes Sedai for healing. They _kill _them."

"I'm fully aware of that," she snapped at him. "The White Tower suffered a great loss when that thing got loose; a friend of mine among the dead. I don't need to be told about the nature of Shadowspawn."

Rand watched her coolly, but the echo of a smile ghosted over his face.

"Then surely you understand my reluctance to believe that one would seek help for healing its enemy."

"I do. But these sisters…they weren't lying, or exaggerating. And you didn't see the way it was with Mat. It was different. It wanted to toy, not kill. This thing is like a flaming cat." Her fingers drummed on the glass.

Rand opened the wardrobe door and started riffling through his clothes.

"Caemlyn, you say?"

"That's right." Maritel moved over the edge of the bed, eyes straining to make out all that was happening in the dim light of the candle. "That was this afternoon. But there's more."

"Go on." Rand pulled out some pain britches and white shirt.

"The Mother was in her office when Aviendha opened a Gateway to her. She and Elayne were there. With Mat."

Rand looked at her over his shoulder.

"Is he alright?"

"Yes. According to the Mother he was full of life. He wanted the medallion, and told her that the _gholam_ was in the Royal Palace. He obviously intends to go back to it and bring it down himself."

"Stupid fool," Rand snarled and went back to the wardrobe, fighting his way through the rich coats to get to the common brown one at the back.

"He had a message for you. He said 'tell Rand hello, and give Min a kiss from me.'"

"Min isn't here," Rand muttered and threw the coat down on the bed.

"Are you going somewhere, Lord Dragon?"

"I am." He untied the robe and threw it to one side. She watched as he began to dress into the ordinary farmer's clothes, red and gold dragons covered. Her eyes fell on the two wounds on his side, a deep puncture and vicious slash across it. He glanced up and, seeing her watching, turned away to button up the shirt.

"Where are you going?" She frowned and studied him with a critical eye. Rand gave her a grim look and pulled on a pair of gloves to cover the two dragon heads on his hands.

"To get Mat."

"What?" Her frown deepened. "You can't. You can't go near the _gholam, _not you. If it kills you-"

"It won't. Mat's got the medallion, but he can't do what needs to be done on his own. Even with reinforcements he got himself half-drowned last time. I can't allow him to die."

"But you're the Dragon Reborn. You _cannot_ put yourself up for the slaughter like that."

'_Going to get yourself killed,'_ Lews Therin laughed. '_But we deserve that. Yes, we do.'_

"Don't lecture me, Maritel." He gave her a cold smile. "That would be hypocritical."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She crossed her arms and her lips pursed into an irritated thin line.

"It's supposed to mean that you're wearing travelling boots and dress. You wouldn't have worn that to come from the White Tower to here via Gateway. Time with Elayne has taught me that much." He started slinging things into a pack. "You were going to go after him as soon as you'd finished here." He glanced up. "Weren't you?"

She gave an annoyed sigh.

"Someone has to try. He's important."

"Of course it is. And I'm trying, so there's no need for you-"

"Don't tell me what to do, Lord Dragon." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm going whether you like it or not. So I can either go with or without you. It's up to you whether you'll accept my help."

He pulled the pack onto his back and picked up his sword, watching her as he belted on the scabbard. She glared back at him, refusing to look away. Rand gave an amused shake of his head.

"You must like him." Rand raised his dyed eyebrows.

"I do," her arms unfolded.

"He's married, you know."

"I don't like him like that." She gave him a disapproving scowl. "He's a desperately needed man. If he dies…they'll be chaos. And he was very decent to me."

"And if he's dead then the Seanchan will get rather upset."

"That's one way of saying it. They haven't heard about all of this yet, thank the Light." She waved her hand at him. "So, are you going to _allow_ me to accompany you, or do I have to follow behind you a couple of feet to be perfectly sure we're not travelling together?"

Rand examined the tall Sister, arms crossed. His grey eyes lost a little of their coldness and he turned to Min's trunk in the corner.

"On one condition, Maritel Sedai."

"And what is that, my Lord Dragon?"

"You wear britches." He held up a pair of Min's plain grey ones. Her eyes flicked from them to him.

"Are you being serious?"

"Perfectly."

"Very well." She snatched them from his hand. "Turn around."

He did, leaning against the sill as he waited. Behind him he heard the sound of clothes being removed.

"Can you fight?" He asked, half-wondering whether he should give her a dagger.

"No." Hooks and eyes snicked as she unclasped her dress.

"What about your Warder?"

"I don't have one. Not met the right man yet."

"Then how in the Light do you expect to come up against a _gholam_ and win? You can't channel at it, and you can't fight. What do you intend to do? Reason with it?"

"Certainly not," she gave a low chuckle, but didn't expand on her reply. Rand frowned and allowed her to continue dressing uninterrupted. "I'm decent now."

He turned and she was stood there with the britches on, wearing one of his shirts over the top of her shift. He gave one nod of approval and she threw the dress to one side.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked and pushed hair out of his eyes. She gave him a sly smile.

"Come out into the hall and see. Your Maidens wouldn't let me come in with it." She stepped forward and opened the door. Rand followed behind her and they walked out. The Maidens didn't react to them, but he knew they were watching. Her change of clothing was bound to start rumours, but that couldn't be helped.

"Egwene hasn't given you permission to do this, has she? She didn't know what you were planning."

"I'll take whatever consequences come of it," she replied, then stopped. Her smile widened and she pointed. "That is what I intend to use against the _gholam._"

Rand started at the contraption propped up against the wall. It was something between an oversized crossbow and a weapon of torture. It was at least three times as big as a large crossbow though, and the arrow sprung into it had no place in normal battle. Barbed, huge, and with a sharp splayed head, the arrow looked like it could be used to bring down a _grolm_. A rough scraggle of rope was tied to the ring at the end of it, nestled among the black feathers to give it flight.

"What is that? Something for hunting big animals?"

Maritel shook her head. "No, Mat had it made after he decided to try and kill the _gholam_ in the first place. The barbs drive into its flesh and stick in. It took a while for the creature to dig it out of itself last time. That arrow is the reason we were able to restrain the _gholam_ in the first place…well, along with the medallion. It's also how it got out of its cell; it broke the wire mesh with it and squeezed through the gap." She went over and hefted the loaded crossbow up into her arms. "I'll shoot the thing with this. It might slow it down enough for Mat or you to finish it off with the medallion."

Rand nodded slowly, taking it all in. Perhaps with this, as well as Mat's _ter'angreal,_ they really did stand a chance. Maritel certainly looked like a woman on a mission.

"To Caemlyn it is, then."

* * *

Mat fought to hold back a retch. He was _not_ going to sick up, he steadfastly refused to. He'd already spent most of last night bent over the wash basin throwing his guts up with the _gholam_ rubbing his back in an odd attempt at comfort. What more, he was fed up with the dice in his head. Although they were sometimes useful, he was already perfectly aware that his life was in danger. He didn't need them to constantly remind him of it.

Light he had a splitting headache.

He decided to never ever get drunk again. Everything between the dance where he'd rested his head on the _gholam's_ shoulder and suddenly feeling terribly sick was a blur.

He'd led his head on its shoulder.

Oh blood and bloody ashes.

He looked up at it. It was led out in the empty bath tub next to him, nose in a book it had found under their bed. Mat rubbed his sore head and went back to the task at hand.

He was filthy and the bathwater was proof of that. With a sigh he picked up the soap and scrubbed at his hair. It was good to get clean again, and although the steam wasn't helping his headache he was glad that he'd made the effort.

The _gholam_ made a quiet humming noise and turned the book to one side, examining it. Mat frowned as he massaged the soap bubbles.

"Something interesting?"

"This book has drawings." It told him, and righted the book again. It turned a page.

"What's it about?" Mat rubbed at his ears with the wet corner of a towel. The _gholam_ held the page out to him and he peered at it. He was confronted by a black and white drawing of a man and woman enjoying themselves in a most unusual position. Mat stared.

"Why the Light are you reading that?"

The _gholam _took its book back and began reading again, not replying. Mat shook his head and took a breath. He dipped under the water and rubbed the soap from his hair; feeling slightly revolted by the murky brown colour the bathwater had turned.

Resurfacing, he grabbed the towel and stood up, wrapping it around his waist. "I think I'm corrupting you." He stepped out of the bath and began to dry himself off, the cold air freezing against his skin.

The _gholam's_ smile returned.

"How would you achieve that, Matrim?"

Mat blinked and paused, towel against his chest.

"You're looking at filthy drawings. And you just called me Matrim," he accused, and picked up the bandages that dressed the stitched and healing wound on his stomach. He wrapped it around carefully, but tight enough not to slip off, and pinned it.

"Does that name please you?" The _gholam_ asked, eyes watching him over the top of the book.

"Yes, I guess it does. Thanks." He got dressed. As he pulled on his smallclothes he was careful to hold the medallion inside the cloth. The yellow handkerchief went around his neck last. "We better head off. Got everything?"

It placed the book down next to the bath, stood up and patted its pockets.

"Yes. We are going to…Far Madding?"

Mat nodded and slung his pack on. "You will tell me how you got the scar on your neck as we walk," it told him and got out of the bath. Mat blinked.

"Pardon?"

"You promised." It reminded him and opened the bathroom door. Mat gave an eye roll.

"I suppose. It's complicated though. And probably sounds a bit insane."

"You are not insane. You talk, I will listen."

Mat paused and looked it. It met his gaze and tilted its head. Despite the headache he gave it a smile and tapped its shoulder with a gentle fist

"You just want to know everything, don't you?"

"Everything," it replied.

"Come on then. Let's get out of the city and I'll start to tell you everything. Though it'll take me a while."

"We have much time." it told him and slipped past to go down the hall to the stairs, a spring in its step as if it were still dancing. Mat sighed and rubbed his temples. Why couldn't he have been kidnapped by a Myrddraal? They were easier to hate.

* * *

Nerim giggled as he held up the emerald pendant, his own face fractured and reflected back so many times in the delicate shape of the stone. Ilsa sat beneath the tree a respectful distance from Moridin, watching the boy as he took such delight in her necklace.

"I like this," Nerim stated. "It's pretty."

"It was my mother's," Ilsa told him and bit down into the tough salted meat that was their breakfast.

"It's like your eyes." The lad looked up at her and held the pendant out to compare the two colours. "Green. Nice." He grinned at her. "Very nice."

Moridin picked up some of the meat and threw it at him.

"Eat that and stop flirting."

Nerim bobbed his head happily and handed the stone and chain back to Ilsa. She hung it around her neck as he started munching on the pork. Moridin went back to ignoring the both of them, blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. Ilsa gaze had turned on him; he could feel it prickling on the back of his neck. His patience was beginning to deplete and irritation growing harder to push down. He wasn't annoyed by his two companions; although Nerim certainly needed some kind of mental help that was no longer available in this Age, and Ilsa constantly had her eyes on him, he quite enjoyed their company. The boy was in awe of him and Ilsa nothing less than perfectly polite. Unlike Sammael or Rahvin when they were alive, he didn't need people on their knees before him to feel important. Besides, his own needs dimmed into insignificance when it came to his cause. As Graendal had once commented, he was a work-driven man. Graendal could have helped Nerim, back in what was now called the Age of Legends. Her skills at healing the mind had been praised to the extent of earning herself a third name, so he was sure a little instability and death-dealing fantasies would have been a simple task. However he very much doubted Graendal would be interested in healing minds now, especially one of a lowly Darkfriend.

It was no small wonder the Great Lord hadn't ordered her to deal with this _gholam_ issue. Not after her unfortunate encounter back near their original creation. Graendal had been careless and had almost suffered the ultimate price for it. _Gholam_ were unstable creatures by their nature, and the particular one that had almost torn her into pieces was an especially difficult one who reacted badly to be being ordered. Luckily it was not that _gholam_ he was now hunting. This one was a little more sane.

Still sneaky though.

His hand went to the back of his head, a glower darkening his face. It was he who had been lucky this time. Cauthon could have killed him.

"Ilsa."

"Yes, Moridin?"

"Come over here."

She got up and moved over to him. She sat down at his side and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

"Can I come over too?" Nerim asked, eyes wide over the top of the meat. Moridin glanced at him.

"Stay there and finish your breakfast," he told the boy. Glad to have another order, Nerim continued eating. Moridin turned back to Ilsa. "We stay here today."

She hid her shock well, he decided. Only a quizzical rise of the eyebrows gave her away.

"As you wish. May I ask why?"

"I was wrong; we're going in the wrong direction. I don't think they've left Caemlyn yet. After what it did to Cauthon, bleeding him like that, my bet is that he'll want a nights rest first."

"But they'll still go toward Far Madding?"

"I don't see why not. But we're making a mistake moving now." He stretched out his booted legs. "We'll let them come to us."

Ilsa gave a nod and glanced over at Nerim. The boy was gnawing happily, lost in his own world. She frowned and began to idly fiddle with her necklace.

"Nerim…is he alright?"

"Are you referring to his physical or mental well-being?" Moridin yawned and lent his chin on his palm.

"Mental. He seems a little strange."

"Of course he's strange," Moridin's lips curled into a smile. "He's a Darkfriend."

He left Ilsa to ponder over that and got to his feet. Nerim grinned at him as he approached and held out the little that was left of his pork.

"Almost eaten," his eyes flicked over to Ilsa. "She's pretty."

Moridin tipped his head to one side, an eyebrow raised. Why the boy imagined he was interested in his lust life, he didn't know. "Think she likes me?"

"I have a job for you."

Nerim bounced up and shoved the rest of his breakfast in his mouth, chewing quickly.

"'at's 'at?"

"I want you to climb this tree and keep a look out for the _gholam_ and Cauthon. If you see them, come and get us as quickly as possible. We'll be in the field, over there." He pointed. "The _gholam_ will sense us, otherwise. Understood?"

Nerim nodded and swallowed.

"Yes, Moridin. Understood. I'll run as fast as I can as soon as I see them."

"Good." He paused for a moment, face lit by the pale sun as plans, memories and thoughts passed through his mind. He knew that as each day passed his own mental stability disintegrated. It was an inexorable consequence of using the True Power, along with the _saa_ and other even less pleasant prices. Catching the _gholam_ today would be easier than catching it tomorrow. The faster it was back at Shayol Ghul, the sooner he could get back to his own weavings and plots. He'd spent too long threading everything together into a delicate web to have one rogue Shadowspawn with a soft spot to ruin it for him.

Perhaps he really was insane after all, but he had a sneaking suspicion of why the _gholam_ was acting like this. He just hoped he was wrong, as it would present complications for both this Cauthon situation and those in the future.

"Moridin?"

He blinked and found that Nerim was looking up at him, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, boy. Go watch up the tree."

* * *

Mat waved toward his throat and gave a grim smile.

"So I ended up with the scar."

The _gholam_ walked beside him in silence, as it had done for the past two hours. It had allowed him to tell the tale of his encounter with the Aelfinn, his journey into Rhuidean and the doorway of the Eelfinn uninterrupted. It had not asked him questions, instead apparently content to listen. Mat was unsure as to what it made of what it was hearing; whether it believed him or not. The origins of the medallion must have made a fascinating story for the creature. At least it made the bleak road to Far Madding a little more entertaining.

"I have questions," it told him, eyebrows drawn together. Mat nodded and hitched the pack back onto his shoulders.

"Go ahead."

"Why do you cover your scar?" Its finger reached out and touched the handkerchief. Mat gave a self-conscious shrug, unsure of how to answer.

"It's ugly. I just don't like it." To the _gholam's_ unchanging expression he grinned lop-sidedly. "I guess it just brings back bad memories."

"You should be proud of it," The creature's voice was quiet, determined. "It is a testament to your survival and importance." It tapped its own branded cheek. "We are both survivors, Matrim."

"I don't want to be bloody important." Mat growled, and kicked at a stone in his path. "I just want to go home and be _normal_ again."

"No. You think you do."

Mat's glare turned on it but it raised its hand in a placating motion before he could snap a retort. "You long for the past, but that is not your life anymore. Could you return to set badgers on the green after all you have done? Steal pies?"

"No…I…It's not that. It's just that I sometimes feel so far away from where I came from."

"Of course. But do not hate your scar."

Mat watched it with mixed emotions. In some ways the more it spoke the greater he could understand how it ticked, but then it also seemed to become more and more complicated. The bloody thing sure as Light liked keeping him on his toes.

"You're smarter than you make out, aren't you?"

"I do not make out to be anything."

"What I mean is the more I get to know you, the more I get tangled up trying to understand you. You come out with stuff that I never thought you'd be able to say."

It smiled its _gholam_ish smile and tilted its head.

"I do not understand humans either, but I have discovered they can be picked apart."

"And you like picking me apart?"

"Yes. I do not want to stop."

Mat gave a humourless smile and pushed hair out of face.

"Has to stop one day, _gholam_. We can't keep this up forever."

"We can try." Its eyes were fierce in their determination, and as if it didn't realise what it was doing, it gripped his wrist. Mat suddenly felt unutterably sad.

"Yes. We can try." He repeated, and it blinked, slow and thoughtful. Gently, it released him.

"The Snake people," it chewed once, briefly, on the inside of its cheek. "They told you those things that would happen. One has happened; that you died. But the other two things, to give up half the light of the world and to marry a daughter of nine moons…" it paused, and Mat knew what was coming. "Have they happened?"

There seemed to be no avoiding answering so Mat sighed and nodded.

"One has, one hasn't."

It blinked again.

"Which?"

"I'm married." The guilt of a hundred winks and fondles with tavern girls came flooding into him. He set his jaw, almost feeling physical pain. Tuon; the wife he had always been fated to have and the destiny he had accepted. The wife he tried to desperately forget because he knew with sick certainty that without the Aelfinn's prophesy he would never have married. Better to forget about the Seanchan when he could, along with the fragile alliance his marriage had helped create. He didn't know if he loved Tuon or not, and he didn't want to look into it. Although she had far more honour and sense than the rest of the Seanchan, it was best not to know how he felt for her. Better to throw himself into the Band and get the bloody Last Battle over and done with, before complicating things with emotions, love, and married life with an heir to the Seanchan Crystal Throne.

The _gholam's_ face was pale and shocked. Mat refused to look at it, so instead stared down at his boots. He couldn't feel guilty about footwear.

"You…I…I did not know. Was not told…"

"I guessed that." Mat didn't know what else to say.

"You did not tell me."

"You never asked. Besides, why would I discuss it with you?"

"You discussed everything else!" It snapped. "This is wrong. You are not supposed to be married, you are…you are Matrim Cauthon!" Its frustration bubbled over and it suddenly swiped at him. The blow caught him across the jaw and sent him sprawling to the mud. Mat caught his breath, scuffed hands stinging. He stared up at it, teeth bared.

"You think I don't know that?" He ripped off his pack and threw it at the _gholam_ with as much force as he could. It hit its chest and fell to the ground, but the _gholam _barely moved. "You think I don't know what's flaming well expected of me and the difference between what I want and what I _have to do_! This is a bloody war!" He scrabbled up to his feet and snatched hold of its coat and yanked it hard toward him, faces inches apart. Its furious snarl matched his own. "This is a bloody war, _gholam_, and we're on opposite sides whether you care to remember it or not. What we need doesn't matter, it's all about what we can flaming well do to help our own causes." The blood seemed to roar in his ears. "I'm married, you're Shadowspawn. What you want from me can never happen. It can't; not like this."

Its chest heaved under his clenched fists, body sprung tight. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if it killed him right here and now.

"Who is she?" It growled. "Who is the daughter of the nine moons?"

"I'm not going to bloody tell you, no matter how much you smack me around. She's my wife; that's all you need to know."

"You are _mine_," it told him, and the possession in its voice burned. "Mine. No one else's."

"No," Mat shook his head and let its coat go; a quiet calmness had washed over him and he stepped back, away from it. "No, _gholam_. I was never yours. I'm here because I choose to be. You're the one who's mine, not the other way around."

It stared at him, shocked and snarling, hands in tight fists. Mat's body felt numb, the ache in his jaw hardly registered.

The _gholam_ stepped toward him, and suddenly the aggression was gone. Its hands opened and reached for him, face in a terrible twist of conflicting emotions. It was pleading with him the only way it knew how.

Mat didn't move. He didn't have the energy to resist anymore. Everything he'd said was etched in his mind as if branded there, and for the first time he couldn't fight that things were so much more complicated than he'd originally thought.

The shriek of delight cut through the air and Mat whipped around. That hadn't been a bird; that was a voice. A very happy voice. The _gholam_ straightened behind him and flared its nostrils, drawing in the scents around them. Mat's eyes caught the ragged lonesome tree at the side of the road ahead of them. A grinning, manic face peered back at him from the branches and the boy whom it belonged to jumped down from his perch. The _gholam_ stepped to Mat's side, eyes narrowed.

"The Darkfriend."

Mat's jaw dropped as he recognised the lad. The last time he'd seen him was in the Red Bull, bleeding on the floor and in the custody of Ilsa Sedai.

"What in the… How did he get here?"

As if on cue, the lad took off, tearing across the field away from them. Mat made to go after him when the _gholam _caught his shoulder.

"Channelers. Faint, but there. One male, one female."

"Oh bloody ashes…they must have got away from her!" He whirled on the _gholam, _eyes wide, and his blood turned cold. "He was on lookout! He's going to get the flaming bloody Forsaken!"

* * *

**Tbc...**


	20. Weaving

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat grabbed hold of the _gholam's _sleeve, his heart beating a fast rhythm in his chest.

"What do we bloody well do!" There was no chance of creeping up on a Forsaken this time.

"I cannot kill either of them," it replied, so calm after all that had just happened.

"We could run," Mat's hand moved to its wrist. "Run so he can't order you."

"He would call to me," the _gholam_ replied. "I would be told to bring you back." The running boy stopped in the distance perhaps fifty odd paces from them and dropped to the ground. Perhaps he had stumbled, Mat wasn't sure.

"We need to get out of here." Mat pushed down his growing panic. "Get out of here before he comes. We're just bloody stood here!" he pulled on its wrist but it refused to move.

Slowly, it shook its head. "He is hunting me, not you. You must go before he comes and perhaps he will not tell me to find you."

Mat gaped at it. "What? No! Just come with me, burn you!" He grabbed it with both hands and yanked as hard as he could. Again it shook its head, and suddenly lashed out, throwing Mat away its side and to the ground for the second time that morning. He landed with a heavy thud, ribs aching.

"Go, Matrim Cauthon. You are free."

"Light blind you…" Mat snarled up at it and slipped the dagger out from under his jacket. "We're not equal!" The boy stood up, and beside him two people rose. One was the tall, dark Forsaken and the other an auburn-haired woman. The _gholam_ frowned, and Mat stared at her figure in the distance, still sat on his backside. "Ilsa…?"

"I did not…" The _gholam_ whirled on him. "She is Black Ajah. You _must_ go, Matrim. They will make me kill you." Its face contorted in anger and deep, utter despair.

"I can't run that flaming fast!"

It bared its teeth at him and for the first time its voice raised to a furious cry.

"Go, Matrim Cauthon!"

He scrabbled with his legs, trying to get a purchase, when a Gateway sliced open next to the tree. The _gholam_ clenched its fists and glared down at him, snarling. "Do not make me kill you." Mat got himself back to his feet and stood there frozen, feeling oddly alone. They both turned to look at the three people who stepped through the Gateway. The boy was the only one smiling; both the Forsaken and Ilsa were grim.

"You bloody witch…" Mat shook his head, fist tightening on the dagger. "You're Black Ajah!"  
The Forsaken's eyes glanced at him with complete disinterest, then slid over to the _gholam_.

"Nerim, Ilsa; deal with the boy," his voice was quiet. "The _gholam_ is mine."  
Nerim grinned and advanced on Mat. He could see deep bruises on the lad's jaw where he had kicked him in the Red Bull.

"Gonna stick you, Cauthon." He giggled and drew a dagger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the _gholam_ go to stop him but the Forsaken's voice cut through.

"Don't move."

That was fine with Mat. He would deal with the Darkfriend and then get both himself and the _gholam_ out of this sorry mess.

* * *

Moridin approached the _gholam_ step by step, ignoring everything else around them. It snarled at him, unable to move, and he smiled at it humourlessly.

"You will not hurt me. You will not lie to me. You will not make a fool of me again, _gholam_." He paced around it, eyes flitting over the neatly repaired tears in its coat, its messy hair, and its scars. "Once again a _gholam_ gets above its station. Why can you not remember that you are tools, not people? What did you think would happen? We'd let you and Cauthon go on your merry way?" It was quivering with rage, unable to act. "That you could live some happy life without us hunting you down? You are nothing more than a weapon. A very dangerous one, but no more than that. The Great Lord is not happy with you, and if I were in your boots, I'd be praying that he doesn't realise quite why you've been acting like this."

Moridin stopped in front of it, cool eyes narrowed. "Did you really think you could have him? Why would someone like him want you? Shadowspawn. The sooner you realise that you are property to be ordered, that you will never be free of your constraints, the better."

He glanced over at Nerim and Cauthon. They were fighting in close combat, daggers screeching against each other. Nerim was on the defensive; he was losing. No matter. Ilsa would deal with him once the Darkfriend had fallen. "You can have the pleasure of watching your heartthrob die. Then perhaps you will learn that _gholam_ do not get what they desire, unless it is killing."

The _gholam_ stared over at the two lads as they fought, unable to look away. Moridin crossed his arms and waited. This merry dance would be over soon enough.

* * *

Nerim felt sweat dribble down his back despite the cold. Mat's hands were too quick, his dagger work too expert. With growing panic he realised he'd made a mistake; he should have let Ilsa balefire the older man. Mat fought like a man possessed, each slash of his dagger aimed for somewhere vital. Nerim couldn't keep up and he only just managed to deflect a thrust from Cauthon. The blade sunk deep into his shoulder and he cried out with agony and fear. He didn't want to die.

Out of sheer desperate reaction he slashed out and he felt his dagger slice through flesh. Cauthon yelped in pain and yanked his blade back from Nerim's shoulder. The swipe had been lucky, but effective. Mat's face was sliced open, from cheek bone to the corner of his mouth. Nerim could see his teeth through the cut, and grinned with triumph.

"Got you! Not so pretty now!"

Unfortunately his jibe only seemed to anger Mat further. Cauthon spun on his heel and slashed in a wide arch. Nerim tried to bend back to avoid it but it caught him across the chest, cutting open his clothes and his skin in one sweep. He staggered back and Cauthon pressed his advantage, kicking forward and knocking Nerim's legs out from under him and the dagger from his hand. He stumbled back to the ground and before he could react Cauthon kicked him again and his jaw broke with an agonising crunch. Mat slipped in the mud and fell to his knees, blood spilling from his split face. Nerim's mouth was full of blood and splintered teeth. Moaning with pain he registered just in time that Cauthon had his blade raised to stab down into his chest. There was no way to stop it, but he could take the General down with him. He whipped his knife out from his boot and as the other man drove his dagger down into his chest Nerim thrust up. Mat's eyes stared at him disbelievingly as the knife cut into his windpipe. From somewhere in the distance he heard both the _gholam_ and Ilsa scream out in fury.

Nerim's spiked heart tried desperately to keep beating as his hand fell to the ground and pulled his knife with it. Mat clutched his throat and fell back.

Nerim stared up at the grey-blue sky and waited to die.

* * *

Ilsa gripped her emerald pendant, staring with disbelief at the scene before her. Her almost motherly affection for the boy screamed at his pain. He was crazy, but there was something about Nerim that made her want to take care of him. There was only one thing left to do, and it had to be done quickly.  
Her hand stretched out and she let _saidar _loose. A beam of light, balefire, flew toward the dying Cauthon, and the _gholam_ cried out again, unable to move against its orders of constraint. Moridin's cool façade dropped and he screamed at her,

"NO!"

The balefire hit Cauthon full on but the flows seemed to melt away as it touched him. He was left unharmed and unaffected. Ilsa and Moridin stared slack jawed at him, unbelieving. That was impossible. No one could resist balefire, not even the famous farmboy come General. "No…no that can't happen." Moridin shook his head. The _gholam_ suddenly started to laugh, and the sound of it made Ilsa's blood run cold.

She grit her teeth. No one survived balefire. No one! She reached out again, anger and desperation rising. "NOT BALEFIRE!" Moridin screamed at her but she ignored him. Cauthon had to be erased before he died.

As she released _saidar_ again a buffer of something struck her off balance. Out the corner of her eye she saw Moridin reaching out toward her, trying to stop it happening; whatever Power he used was invisible to her senses. The strike threw her out and the beam of molten light sped off course. She regained her balance just in time to see Nerim as he was struck by it, and was burned out of existence and the pattern.

To her side, the _gholam_ continued to laugh.

* * *

The _gholam_ watched as Mat's eyes fluttered open and his fingers stroked over where the fatal wound had been seconds before. The balefire had done its job; healing both throat and face. Moridin growled and released flows of the Power that made the _gholam_ itch in that odd way. The Black Sister suddenly clutched her head and cried out in pain; she fell to her knees and shuddered as she squealed. Whatever the Chosen was doing hurt her. The use of balefire must have severely angered him.

"Never use balefire!" he spat at her and turned his blue eyes back on the _gholam_. Off to the side Mat got to his feet and staggered slightly, head whipping about, looking for the Friend of the Dark. He must not have realised what had happened. Silently it begged Mat to run. After the balefire had ceased to burn the boy out of the pattern, the _gholam_ had realised that he must still have his medallion somewhere on him. Why he had not used it, it did not understand; but now found itself feeling glad that he had custody of the silver foxhead. The _ter'angreal_ would stop _saidin_ and _saidar_, but the _gholam_ did not know if it would stop Moridin's other Power. Best if Mat ran now and did not have to find out.

It turned away from Mat and faced the Chosen. The man's face was contorted in rage. His Friend of the Dark was dead and his Black Sister a fool. Must not be a good day for him, the _gholam_ reasoned. He went to speak when something over the _gholam's_ shoulder made his eyes flick up and his mouth open. "_Kjasic_…" he cursed, and it looked over its shoulder to see two people running toward them. Odd that a Chosen should react so negatively. Mat glanced up at the curse then turned his head to see the strangers. He gaped and stepped toward them.

"Rand…?"

Rand al'Thor. The Dragon Reborn. Interesting. Perhaps the Chosen would go after him and leave them free to get away. It looked over its own frozen position. Unlikely.  
The Dragon sprinted faster and dragged his female along beside him. She was holding…something.

"_Kjasic_!" Moridin snarled. "This cannot be happening. This is not the plan!" he gripped hold of the _gholam's_ arm and stepped up close to it. "I'm not having you ruining everything."

"RAND! He's a Forsaken!" Mat cried out and picked up the dead Darkfriend's dagger and whirled on the Chosen, teeth bared. "Let him go, you goat kissing whore," snarling he moved toward them. For a moment the _gholam _was unsure who he was referring to, until it dawned that Mat had called it _him_.  
The Dragon had reached a close enough distance for it to feel the _saidin_ flowing through him. He was powerful. Very powerful. Then, with a sudden release of all that built up _saidin_ the Dragon let balefire fly from his hands, and it headed straight towards itself and the Chosen.

The Chosen stared for just a second before a flood of the odd, itchy Power he used enveloped them, and everything seemed to snap into blackness.

* * *

Mat stumbled back as Rand's balefire tore through the air mere feet from his face. It narrowly missed Ilsa, who had ceased screaming and was now on the ground shivering and holding her head. The light struck the tree and the old, gnarled thing ceased to exist. Mat stared in shock.  
The _gholam_ and Forsaken were gone. He had seen them both almost shimmer and ripple before disappearing a fraction before the balefire ripped through where they had been standing.

It was over. He was free.

Mat's knees went out from under him and he fell down to the mud in an ungainly pile. He was free.

Two pairs of running feet raced toward him and one of them skidded to a halt in front of him and bent down. Rand's familiar face came into view and he grabbed hold of Mat's shoulders. Strangely he had black hair

"Mat? Are you alright?" His voice had become deeper since the last time they'd met. He nodded weakly in reply.

"Yes. I'm…I'm fine."

"Ilsa!" The pretty voice of Maritel made Mat look up. He gazed at her with wide eyes. Not only was she dressed like a man, but she had the huge crossbow from the Ebou Dar _gholam_ hunt in her arms. Had the world gone mad since he was away? "She's Black Ajah," he spoke up. "Shield her or…something."

Maritel frowned, but when Ilsa gave another hopeless moan he assumed she had done so. Not that the Black Sister had seemed in any state to channel anyway.

"Are you hurt?" Rand asked, and put a hand to his jaw. The swipe from the _gholam_ must have left a bruise.

"I'm alright. Just tired," he looked from Rand's stern face to Maritel's concerned one. "How did you two know where we were?"

"We didn't. We just knew you were in Caemlyn. Then the Guard at the gate said he'd seen you both pass through toward Far Madding." Rand smoothed hair back from Mat's eyes. "I recognised that man… You said he was Forsaken?" Mat nodded and Rand pursed his lips in thought, but didn't voice them. Right now, Mat didn't care.

"I worried you were dead," Maritel told him. "How did you survive with it so long?"

"Luck."

"Come on," Rand put his arms under Mat's and pulled him to his feet. "You need rest."

Everything was a blur as he was manhandled up and guided through a Gateway into a rich looking bedchamber. Behind him Maritel had forced Ilsa up, and the red-haired woman was shoved through as well, the crossbow at her back. She still seemed to be recovering from whatever the Forsaken had done to her, though; taking in little of what was happening. Mat knew how she felt as he sat down on the bed and pulled the boots off of his feet. Maritel gave him a weak smile and looked to Rand.

"Shall I take her to the Tower?" She asked, and Ilsa blinked slowly, as if unsure of where she was.

"No. I want to talk to her myself about this Forsaken. Take her somewhere secure and keep her guarded."

Maritel nodded and guided Ilsa out of the bedchamber door before slipping out herself and closing it behind her.

"Where are we?" Mat asked. Rand sat on the window sill opposite him and began to yank off his boots.

"Tear. Or rather just outside the city. I'm staying with one of the Lords I can trust, for now."

"Oh," Everything seemed so different. So confusing after his time with the _gholam_. He wasn't quite sure of how he should be acting. "You look different."

"Dye," Rand replied. "Comes in useful."

"I bet," he rubbed the back of his head. "You need a haircut."

Rand blinked before giving a light smile.

"I suppose I do." His friend gave a sigh and stood up again, restless. He began to undress. "We managed to avoid the Seanchan hearing about all of this. Or there would have been havoc."

Mat nodded dumbly and looked away. Best to avoid thinking about that right now. What would they do to the _gholam_? Punish it in some way? Light…what could they do to it? Torture? He rubbed his scar and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Thank the Light he had the medallion, or he'd have been balefired. No return from that.

He'd almost gone and died again. That Darkfriend had been sneaky, but then when Mat had his full arsenal of weapons he'd have a dagger in his boot as well. Would they kill the _gholam_ for what it had done? _Could_ they kill it?

He put his head in his hands as the truth dawned on him.

Mat Cauthon didn't want to be free.

* * *

It had long since grown dark, but Mat had spent the afternoon catching up on sleep, so night mattered little to him. He jogged down the candle-lit hall looking for a stray servant to ask directions; he'd managed to get himself hopelessly lost.  
Rand had left him on his own a little after changing into his 'Lord Dragon' clothes. An invisible and unspoken wedge had been driven between them. Rand's reluctance to show any emotion whatsoever was draining, and Mat wanted nothing more than the simple, quiet company the _gholam_ could offer. Wasn't life just full of irony?

So here he was, medallion out of his small clothes and round his neck once more, and the Darkfriend's dagger tucked into the waistband of his britches.

As he turned a corner he spotted a servant cleaning the inside of a window. He slowed and coughed lightly, and the girl turned to him.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I'm looking for where the Aes Sedai is being kept. Ilsa."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, my Lord." She chewed nervously on her bottom lip, hand wringing the wash rag. Mat gave her a gentle smile.

"It's all right, I already know all about it. I just can't find the Lord Dragon to ask him where she's being held."

The girl still looked unsure, but then pointed down the hall.

"She's down the stairs. In the cell in the cellar, my Lord."

Mat nodded his thanks and sped off again, thanking the Light for gullible people. The candles and vases and statues and paintings rushed past and he almost lost his footing on the stairs, but his long legs let him take them two at a time. He just missed knocking over another servant as he headed for the kitchens. The door to the cellar was bound to be around there somewhere, and sure enough after a bit of searching he found it. A heavy, old door that creaked when he opened it. Inside was Maritel; the _gholam_ crossbow was propped against the wall. An iron door was behind the stool she sat on, with a small barred window.

Maritel looked up at him. She hadn't changed out of the britches and looked rather travel-worn.

"Mat? What are you doing here?"

"Maritel Sedai," he gave her a quick bow. "I want to see Ilsa."

She frowned and stood up, brushing dirt off of the billowing shirt draped around her.

"Why? Rand wants to question her in the morning."

"There's stuff _I_ need to know. Things I can't ask him to question her about. Please, just let me in for a minute?"

She pursed her lips. "Matrim, I seem to remember that the last time you went into a cell with something you shouldn't you ended up kidnapped."

"Ilsa is not the _gholam_. She's shielded, correct?"

"That's right."

"So what harm is there? Please, Maritel. This is important to me."

She sighed and took a key from her pocket.

"You shout if there's trouble. And don't blame me if you get knocked out again." She tapped the key against her palm. "I've got something for you."

Mat blinked and raised his eyebrows.

"What's that?"

She pointed to the crossbow and he looked down. There by it was his hat. A grin grew on his face despite his mood and he bent down to pick it up. Inside of it was his black scarf, and he wrapped it around his neck, stroking the soft fabric with his fingers. He gave her a bow. "Thank you, Maritel Sedai. Much appreciated." He held the hat in his hands and she nodded to him.

"I picked them up from the Tower for you. Thought you might like something familiar."

He gave a smile as she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Inside Ilsa was tied to a chair, green eyes narrowed as he approached. One of her hoop earrings had been torn out and her split lobe was covered in dried blood.

"Come to gloat?" She asked. Mat picked up a stool from the side and set it down in front of her. As he sat, Maritel closed the door and he heard it lock.

"No. No, I've not come to gloat," he crossed his legs. "Why'd you heal me if you're a Black Sister?"

"If I hadn't your _gholam_ would have snapped my neck. Besides, I didn't know what the plans are concerning you." She shifted in her bonds.

"What did he want with the _gholam_? Just to get him to start following orders properly?"

She smiled at him viciously, without replying. Mat lent forward. "They're going to severe you, you know. Once they're done questioning you. Then kill you, probably. I've heard your _master_ doesn't much like failures."

Her mocking smile faded and she licked her lips.

"I'll take what comes."

Mat snorted and sat back.

"Maybe I could make it so you aren't stilled before they kill you. I've heard it's unpleasant."

"You're offering me a deal?"

"Of sorts. Just answer my questions and I promise I'll try."

Ilsa sighed. "From what he said, the Great Lord wanted the _gholam_ back at Shayol Ghul for punishment. It disrupted plans, apparently. And before you ask, no I don't know what plans. The Great Lord doesn't like his shadowspawn doing things without his approval."

"So he was taking it back to Shayol Ghul?"

"That's right," She frowned in confusion. "Why do you care? Aren't you glad to be away from it?"

"I got to know it, in a way. I just want to know what'll happen."

She gave him a knowing look and added a smirk.

"Fancied you, didn't it?"

Mat scowled. "That's none of your bloody business."

She laughed and licked her lips again.

"No shame if it did. You're a handsome man, as you well know. Had a snuggle with it late at night, did you?"

"Ilsa…" Mat rubbed his temples and looked at her from over his hand. "Shut up and listen to me. You're powerful enough to use balefire, so I'll assume you can make a gateway. Correct?"

She nodded. "Why?"

"I need to get to Shayol Ghul."

For a few seconds she just stared at him, then burst into peals of laughter. Mat sat there glowering.

"You? Go to Shayol Ghul?" her laughter calmed. "Do you have a death wish or are you just stupid?"

"No, and maybe. Could you make a gateway there?"

Her grinning face slowly drew into a frown.

"Light…I was right, wasn't I? You're going after it. Did you and it…?" She blinked a few times. "You wouldn't. You're a ladies man, and married to boot. Plus it's-"

"I'm aware of what it is, and you're jumping to conclusions. Could you make the gateway or not?"

"I could, but not shielded. I can't do anything like this."

Behind him the door opened and he turned. Maritel stood in the doorway, arms folded.

"I can hear you, you know." She nodded toward the small window in the door. "What's going on?"

Ilsa smiled sweetly. "Bugger off. We're trying to have a conversation."

Maritel gave her a cool look before raising expectant eyebrows at Mat.

"What she said," he replied.

Maritel gave a growl of frustration and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"Mat, I can hear you dealing with her! Why do you want to go after it? It tried to kill you. Three times."

"They're going to punish him," Mat got up and faced the tall woman. "If I can just get him out of there and away from them…"

Maritel put a hand on his arm. "Mat, this is madness. You can't _rescue_ shadowspawn from Shayol Ghul. You'll get yourself killed, or captured again."

"I'm going whether you like it or not."

"For the Light's sake! We need you!"

"And that's why it'll much easier if I can go there via gateway, otherwise I'll have to trek up there through the Blight," he gave a sly grin. "Much more dangerous."

"I am not taking that shield off of her."

"Maritel…Which would you rather? One more _known_ Black Sister free, or a crazed _gholam_ loose on the world? If I can get him to come with me, I can sort something out."

"IT, Mat! IT! This thing has killed dozens of people!"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't!"

Mat ran a hand through his hair in frustration and pulled at it roughly.

"Look, I'm going there with or without Ilsa's help. The difference is that I'm far more likely to get killed on the way up if I have to ride."

"And if I take the shield off she'll kill you."

Mat tapped his medallion. "No. She won't."

Ilsa smiled slightly and cocked her head.

"I wouldn't kill you, not if you let me go. I wouldn't even touch her," She nodded toward Maritel. "I'd just let you go through to Shayol Ghul while I go somewhere completely different. He left me for dead, and if _he_ left me for dead I can be sure the Dark One has the same opinion."

"We can't trust you," Maritel spat.

"I think we can," Mat replied. "What she said is true. The Forsaken hurt her and cast her aside. Besides, I have a feeling about this. And they normally turn out right."

Maritel rubbed the back of her neck, ruffling her hair further. She was clearly torn. "The best she can hope for is to go somewhere neither we nor the Dark will find her. And if she turns up again…" Mat gave Ilsa a meaningful look. "I won't be nearly so friendly."

Ilsa nodded in understanding and stared hopefully at Maritel.

"This is against _everything_ I've been taught," she leant heavily against the wall. "You're _sure_ you can persuade the _gholam_ to help us, not them?"

"As sure as I can be. It likes me, and can twist its orders."

Maritel looked from one to the other then sighed.

"Wait here," she dodged out the door and Ilsa gazed up at him.

"What's she after?"

Mat shook his head. "I don't know. She could be going to tell Rand, I suppose."

"Lets hope not, or we'll both be in trouble."

Before Mat had time to think too much about that, Maritel returned, this time hefting the crossbow in her arms. Mat gaped at her. "What's that bloody thing for?"

"Just in case," She turned and locked the three of them in. "If that _gholam_ comes for me, I'm sticking it."

"You're joining me, then?" Mat asked. He would be glad of the extra support. With luck they could move stealthily and avoid being seen, but if things went wrong…that crossbow could very well save their lives.

"Yes. Get her untied."

Mat drew his dagger and sliced Ilsa's bonds. The woman gave a moan of relief and rubbed her sore arms and legs. "You'll have to make your own gateway to leave, once you've closed ours. I can make one for our return."

Ilsa nodded and got to her feet, slightly unsteady.

"Take the shield off."

Mat didn't realise that Ilsa was free to channel until a gateway sliced open the air beside him, cutting the stool in half. The Black Sister gave him a grin, revealing in her re-acquired talents. "Whoops."

"Remember what I said," Maritel hefted the crossbow up. "Leave as soon as you close this, or I swear I'll hunt you down and have you stilled. Then kept alive."

Ilsa rolled her eyes.

"Understood," she looked at Mat. "You're insane, but I like you. Hopefully, we will never meet again."

"With luck," Mat replied and turned to face the gateway. On the other side lay black, grim slopes and a murky red sky. The _gholam_ had once attempted to describe Thakan'dar, but had given up after a few minutes of trying to find the right words. "That's Shayol Ghul?"

"Yes," Ilsa was serious now, and she backed away from her own gateway. "Go quickly, before something sees you. And don't Channel; _they'll_ know."

Before he lost his nerve Mat stepped forward, Maritel close behind. As if on cue thunder rolled and a bolt of lightening cracked _up_ into the sky.

"I had a nightmare once, about Shayol Ghul," Maritel said softly. "This is worse."

Mat nodded dumbly and turned just in time to see Ilsa close the gateway with a wave of her hand. They were alone, and Mat had never felt more scared in his life.

* * *

**Tbc...**


	21. Silver

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or its characters.

* * *

**

Mat stepped up onto a plane of rock and scanned over the sight before him. Shayol Ghul was barren, and although Mat could see for miles around there was no sign of either _gholam_ or Forsaken. The mountain peak blocked his view though, so there was a chance the _gholam_ was hidden behind the craggy slopes. He shivered and pulled the scarf tight around his throat. There was no warmth in the steam that seemed to constantly billow out from the sore-like vents in the rock.

He glanced over his shoulder. Besides Maritel there was nothing but the blasted lands; empty and stretching out for leagues. This place was worse than the Waste.

"We need to move around the slopes, staying out of sight," he hopped down from the rock and tipped his hat out of his eyes. "I don't want to think about what will happen if we're caught."

"What do you suggest we stay behind?" Maritel nodded her head toward the mountain. "There are no rocks large enough to hide us."

"Then we do the best we can," Mat moved off in a loping jog and tried to keep his head down as much as possible. He didn't know how big Shayol Ghul was, and the Forsaken had had several hours head start on them to do whatever he had wanted to with the _gholam_. But then, how many places were there to go? If it were in the Pit of Doom then everything was over. There was no way in the Light he and Maritel could sneak in under the Dark One's nose and steal away the Shadowspawn. He could only hope that the Forsaken hadn't used his odd Power to take the _gholam_ elsewhere again, otherwise he would have to look all over the bloody continent for the flaming thing.

He prayed that it hadn't been hurt. He didn't know how to heal or help an injured _gholam_.

A crack of lightning made him jump as it struck up into the sky from only paces away. It left a greenish blinding streak across his vision and he stood there panting. That had been too close.

"This is a death-trap," Maritel told him, and pulled up to a halt at his side. "Your _gholam_ could be anywhere." She pulled the crossbow into a more comfortable position in her arms.

"I know," He gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes. "But I'm not leaving without him." Without waiting for a reply he moved off again. Maybe lightening didn't strike twice, but he didn't trust _this_ lightening not to hit him out of spite. Light help them if the Dark One knew they were here. He'd rather have the _gholam_ play with him for a few hours than fall into his clutches. Chances were that the Lord of the Grave would have plenty of fun destroying one of his enemies over a long period of time. The Forsaken would probably want to go as well, especially the one he'd smacked over the head with a chamber pot.

A savage roar made him pull up short and duck down. Maritel hit the rock behind him and the crossbow skittered from her hands.

"What was that?" she whispered, and Mat shook his head.

_Light, don't let it be a draghkar._

Another roar followed somewhere in the distance and Mat slowly peaked up from under his hat. From around the slope a group of trollocs were approaching, and at there head was a myrddraal. The party was coming straight for them, and he just knew that the trollocs would smell them if the Fade didn't see them first.

"Back!" he hissed and Maritel started to crawl backward, her hand gripped around her weapon. Mat kept his eyes on them as he shuffled away. They needed to get out of sight, but how? The trollocs could move more quickly than they could.

Then Mat realised what the roaring was. Two of them were fighting, just shoving each other at the moment, but with a bit of luck it would escalate to a full blown brawl.

The Fade turned around and snapped at them in the harsh trolloc tongue. One of the bickering beasts looked up and cowered away from the myrddraal, but the other took the opportunity of its companion's distraction to lunge at its throat. The Fade shouted at them again but to no avail this time. The two trollocs tore at each other, and their fellows stood by giving shouts of encouragement, obviously enjoying the fight. The halfman lost its patience and began to stride toward them.

Mat pulled himself to his feet and grabbed Maritel's arm. "Run up the slope. Quick!"

Fear drove his legs forward. He could hear Maritel pant behind him as the slope grew steep. The group of Shadowspawn fell out of sight as they moved up and around, but they had to find somewhere to hide. In his panic he didn't look where his feet fell and suddenly the ground went out from under him and his boot landed much further down than he'd expected. Icy wetness covered his boot and he fell over onto his front, balance lost. He scrabbled onto the rock and yanked his foot back out of the small stream that had crossed his path. The water was black and the leather of his boot was soaked with it.

Matitel jumped over and ducked down beside him. Her lip curled as she saw the stream. Mat tore at the boot, bending back a nail as he did so and shook at the heavy footwear. He ripped it from his leg and flung it to the ground, followed by his sock. He didn't know if the water would do anything to his skin, but he wasn't about to wait for it to soak through and find out. He felt tainted by the evil looking water; this whole landscape was foul and just _wrong_.

"What type of river is this?" She asked, eyes on his boot. The brown leather was slowly turning a dull black, the material leeched of its own colour.

"I don't know."

"What if they smell us?" She moved away from the stream and ducked behind a boulder. He followed and wedged up next to her.

"You open a gateway and get out of here."

Her lips pursed in disapproval but her reply was stopped by the reappearance of the group of trollocs below. They were now dragging stringy bits of meat and innards behind them. Someone lost the fight.

Mat pressed his back to the rock and scrunched his eyes shut; praying his luck would hold out and the smell of blood and guts would overpower their own. Seconds seemed to pass like hours as the little group made their way across the valley below. The _gholam_ had to be here, he just _had_ to be. Mat didn't know what he'd do otherwise.

* * *

Moridin sat on one of the rocks outside of the entrance to the Pit, his chin resting on his palm. The constant cracks of lightening had begun to wear on his nerves, and the effort of holding the barrier from the cold was now an effort. He also needed sleep. Travelling did not suit him, and right now he wanted a warm bed. But more than that, the lack of the True Power was beginning to grate. It had been a good few hours since he and the _gholam_ had arrived here, and the rules were such that he couldn't have hold of either Power. The addiction was stronger than he'd thought.

The _gholam_ had been in there for a long while. Whatever the Great Lord was doing must be taking time. Of course once the Shadowspawn returned he'd have to go in and speak to his Master. Hopefully the Great Lord was pleased with its relatively quick return; although he suspected that he would be less than impressed by the Dragon Reborn's appearance.

His head shot up as a cry of pain resonated from the Pit. Now _that_ was interesting. A pity Aginor was not still around; the man would have found all this fascinating. Aginor had never succeeded in finding a way to make _gholam_ squeal.

Of course the thing might be useless from now on. It depended how far the Great Lord wanted to punish it for being so slippery. Sammael should have given it tighter orders, ones it couldn't twist. Stupid fool.

He closed his eyes and hung his head. Maybe he could catnap until the _gholam_ returned, but then he didn't want Shaidar Haran to turn up and catch him. He sighed and stood up, stretching his long limbs. It was still odd to be so tall.

Maybe some pacing would wake him up.

* * *

"They're gone," Maritel touched Mat's arm and he opened his eyes. Thaken'dar was empty once again. Maritel was pale, her skin almost the same colour as the shirt she wore. For a brief second the thought of turning back flashed across his mind, but he squashed it down. The image of the _gholam_ being tortured with an instrument that could burn it like the medallion was too strong. He couldn't let that happen. He had to get it out of there. Then he could concentrate on finding a way to free it of its constraints. It _would_ be free, then maybe they could be…well, something other than enemies. Tuon's face pushed to the forefront and that biting grip of guilt returned. Rand's scowling expression joined Tuon's. What would his reaction be when he returned with the _gholam_? The sick feeling in his stomach told him that Rand would be unimpressed. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion that _he_ would not want any investigation into ways of freeing the shadowspawn at all. He would much rather have Mat fry it to a crisp.

He reached into his shirt and pulled the medallion out. For the first time he hated it; hated the foxy people than had given it to him, and hated the stupid, idiotic Forsaken that had sent the _gholam _after him in the first place.

He blinked his thoughts away. If he needed to fight a Forsaken or argue with Rand to keep the _gholam_, so be it.

"Let's follow this stream. At least we won't get lost." He got himself up and Maritel followed.

"What if it leads us right into more trollocs?"

"It won't. They're not up here on the slopes, I don't think."

"You don't _think_. Somehow I'm not convinced."

Mat felt like snapping at her. He hadn't asked her to come with him. If she wanted to leave, so be it. She could take her overblown bow and leave him and the _gholam_ to trek through the Blight. They'd got on fine on their own. Bloody Aes Sedai, always sticking their noses in.

"Go another way if you want," he told her. "I'm following the stream."

He felt her eyes boring into the back of his neck and could almost see her pursed lips. If she sniffed he thought he'd probably push her in the stream.

"I'm trying to help you, Matrim. I don't want you to get killed."

"I'm too important. I know," he glanced at her. "Just trust me and my luck. Besides, the dice haven't stopped rolling yet."

Her brow crinkled at his words, not understanding, but he offered no explanation.

The stream led them upward and along the dark mountainside. It was so cold Mat could see his breath turn to mist in the air. He wished for his green coat, it had been thicker than this borrowed one, but it was lost what seemed like months ago.

Maritel gasped behind him and he looked up. What he saw made him stop still. A shuffling creature, man-shaped but certainly not human had moved out from a forge built into the side of the mountain. Instinct told him not to move.

The thing stopped at the edge of the river ahead of them and turned this way and that, looking for something. Mat dared not breathe. He'd never heard of these rock-like creatures and the _gholam_ had never mentioned them. Perhaps they were dangerous. They didn't look like they could run very fast, but could sound the alarm. Behind him Maritel's breath ghosted over the back of his neck, fast and shallow.

Seemingly not finding what it was searching for, it turned around and walked slowly back into its building.

"What in the Creators name was that thing?" Maritel stared at it with wide eyes.

"I'm not sure… Lets move from here, in case it comes back." He darted over to the side of the grey building, hissing as his bare foot turned on a rock and his ankle twisted. Half limping, he pressed his back to the stone. Maritel was close behind and she held the crossbow to her chest.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, and looked down at his pale, cold foot.

"I'll live," he peeped around to where the creature had appeared. Another was just coming out. Whether it was the same one or not, Mat didn't know. It did the same as the other; head turned to look about, then returned inside. "They don't seem very smart," he told her. "Maybe we could sneak past." She nodded. "We just need to time it right."

She pressed against him and peered around herself.

"Mat… There's blood on the rocks. Something's been killed here."

He looked again where she pointed and saw the dark dried blood encrusted on the stone. Mat could see where it had flown out from the forge in a river when it was fluid. "It's everywhere."

"We need to get away from these things, and fast." Another monster emerged with his words and, like the others, gazed around the empty slopes. "I've got the feeling they're looking for fresh blood."

As it turned Mat readied himself to run. He just hoped that the rock-men were slow enough not to spot them, and couldn't burst into speed like the _gholam_. As the creature's back disappeared out of sight they sprinted forward, out across the dried blood, only a few inches away from the edge of the foul black stream.

* * *

Moridin looked up at the sound of feet scraping across rock from inside the tunnel that led to the Pit. He stood up and brushed down his coat, readying himself for interrogation, discipline or perhaps even praise. It was hard to tell what would happen. Like his knowledge of the outside world, the Great Lord's moods were unpredictable.

As he crossed his arms over his chest the _gholam_ stumbled out from the tunnel, its entire body shaking. Moridin frowned and stepped forward. It stopped and looked up at him with glazed eyes. The foxhead scar on its cheek looked raw and fresh. Whatever had happened in there must have hurt. It wavered slightly, still violently shaking, and put a hand to its cheek. Moridin narrowed his eyes.

"Do you hear me?"

It blinked, then nodded, lips parted. "You were punished?" He reached out and took hold of its wrist. It didn't resist as he examined the scar on its hand; like the other it looked newly branded. "What did he do to you?"

The _gholam_ licked its lips and blinked a few more times. It seemed stunned, unsure of where it was. He gave its hand a tap with his thumb. "Speak to me, _gholam_. What happened?"

"Pain," it told him in a voice so quiet he could barely hear. "Much, much pain."

He let go of its hand and examined it up and down.

"We'll speak more when I return; then sort you out a little. You could do with a new coat, I think. Wait here for me." Moridin moved to enter the Pit, then looked back at it. "This is for the best, you know. It was true what I said before. You do not get what you desire; none of us do. Not until the Great Lord is free, at any rate. And what you want is impossible," he sighed. "Did he find out your reasons for behaving like this?"

The _gholam_ slowly nodded. Moridin gave a wry, humourless smile. "He always discovers what you don't wish him to, _gholam_. You should have learnt that by now." He walked toward the tunnel, thankful that the jagged spikes that jutted down looked like they'd clear his head. "We talk about this and sort things out. Just wait and rest."

As he entered the tunnel and made his decent he glanced back one last time. The _gholam_ was sat on the rock, eyes fixed blankly ahead.

* * *

Mat fought to regain his breath as they both stumbled to a halt behind a great boulder as tall as two men. Maritel lent the crossbow down and clutched her sides, head bent down. A sharp pain on the bottom of his foot told Mat that he'd managed to cut himself. Well wasn't that just perfect? A wound to match his twisted ankle. What was it about this _gholam _that just led him into more and more pain? Certainly not the best basis for a lasting friendship.

He peered over to see the rock-creatures still move in and out in their never-ending cycle. They hadn't noticed, thank the Light. Something was niggling his memory, as if he should know what they were there for, but right now that wasn't important. All that mattered was the fact that the bloody _gholam_ seemed to have disappeared. Maybe the Forsaken really had taken it away to continue its assassinations elsewhere.

"What now, Mat?" Maritel looked up at him, not yet attempted to straighten up. "It's not here. We're going to get ourselves killed for no gain."

He turned to answer when out of the corner of his eye he spotted something further up the slope. Only a little way up the mountain he could see the top of a vent that was without steam. Perhaps it was nothing but… "Matrim?"

He waved her to be quiet and scrambled up the slope toward it, his view of it hindered by a ridge of rock. Perhaps it was a holding cell of some kind, like the one in the bowels of the White Tower. "Mat!" Maritel grabbed her weapon and followed him, still struggling for breath.

As he got higher he realised it wasn't a vent at all, it was a tunnel. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins as it dawned on him what exactly it was he saw. The Pit.

"Oh Light, Mat….is that…?"

He slowed and stepped forward slowly, Maritel clutched his arm. "What are you doing? That's the Pit of Doom!"

He shook her off. "I know. I just want to see…" he tipped his hat back and it hung from his neck by its cord. As he got higher and the rock ridge moved out of view, a familiar head of ruffled brown hair came into view, followed by a grey coat. The _gholam_ was sat on a rock, back to him, hands limply by its sides.

"Is that it?" Maritel's knuckles whitened as she gripped the wood of the crossbow. Mat nodded and moved forward, foot and boot struggling for purchase on the floor of loose and cracked stone.

He reached one hand forward and raised his voice loud enough for the Shadowspawn to hear.

"_Gholam_...?"

The dice crashed to a stop so abruptly Mat stumbled and struggled to keep his balance. He was left reeling with the now strange sensation of the loss of constant tumbling, almost as if someone had made him suddenly deaf.

With a slow, smooth movement the _gholam's_ head turned and its eyes locked on his own. Its lips drew back from its teeth and it got to its feet. Mat's hand lowered. This wasn't right.

The _gholam_ broke into a sprint headed directly for him, its feet half striking and half sliding down the loose rubble on the mountainside.

"Run, Matrim Cauthon!" it screamed at him, now only a few seconds away. "Get away!"

Mat stood there in dumb silence, wide eyes staring at it as it bore down upon him. His feet were frozen, unable to move. Its snarl deepened, and Mat realised that it was a snarl of pain, not anger.

A deep thud sounded behind him and something whistled past his ear. The _gholam_ was thrown backward off its feet as the massive arrow ripped through its chest and the splayed metal head tore through its back with an explosion of shredded grey fabric. It slammed hard against the mountainside and the arrow head jammed into a crag of rock. The shaft that jutted from the _gholam's_ body gleamed in the odd lights and the scraggle of rope waved in the aftershocks of the impact.

Mat stared in stunned silence. Behind him Maritel panted hard and he turned to gaze at her. The empty crossbow was clutched in her hands, her teeth gritted.

"Do something, Mat. I don't care what, just do _something_ with it, because if I had another, I'd put it through its head."

"Keep watch," he snapped at her, and suddenly he hated her. She had just saved his life, but despite that she was just like everyone else; a hindrance.

Mat turned away and ran toward the _gholam_. It lay there pinned to the rock; one hand searching to feel the entrance wound. Its eyes fixed on him as he approached.

"I like this weapon," it told him in a soft voice. Mat stopped a few feet away and looked down at it. Its legs struggled weakly, the other arm attempted to push itself up off of the metal barbs. It failed, feet losing purchase.

"You…you were going to kill me." Mat moved around to its side, careful to stay out of reach, and bent down. Its eyes followed him.

"Yes."

Mat swallowed, hot bitter betrayal burning at the back of his throat. The _gholam_ managed to tilt its head, even then. "I did not wish to," it reached out for him, revealing freshly branded marks. "But I must. I have orders to kill you on sight." It struggled against the metal again. "I cannot get free. I am weak, my strength is lacking."

Mat moved toward it and it suddenly whipped its hands to grab him. "I will kill you, if I can," its agonised expression was so completely in contrast with its body language. "Do not help me."

Mat stopped short and ran a hand though his hair in frustration.

"Who ordered you? That Forsaken?"

"No. The Great Lord."

"Oh Light…" He dropped down to his knees and rubbed his eyes. This was all wrong; this was not how things were supposed to go. "And you have to obey?"

"Yes. It is like a…" it searched for the word "Compulsion. I have no choice." Its fingers stroked across the ground in front of Mat's knee in a gentle caress. "You should not have come here."

"I thought I could get you away. You know, back on the road. Go through the Blight and off travelling again. There's a lot to see, still. Cities, countryside, even the blasted Aiel Waste. If I can just get you off that thing and back to Tear, maybe we could find a way to free you of the constraint. Then you could work with me." His tone and words had become increasingly desperate. The sight of it impaled so made him want to sick up; he wanted nothing more than to get the metal out of it, orders be cursed. Its fingers curled around a small stone by his knee and it shook its head.

"It cannot be done."

"There are powerful Aes Sedai. We could find a way to do it, I'm sure." He pushed hair from his eyes and rubbed his knees nervously; his teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek.

"Matrim, there is no way. I was made for that purpose; to be under complete control. As soon as I work free of this weapon I will snap your neck," its head fell back to rest on the rock.

"Are you going to come after me again? Will I have you pop up and try to kill me?"

"Yes. My orders are to kill you on sight. It is part of the punishment. He knows I feel what I should not."

Mat's anger rose. He wanted to hit something, anything. Especially the bloody Forsaken who had stolen the _gholam_ away.

"Why aren't you just stretching out to get me?" he looked down at its arm, so close to his leg.

"I am weak. He hurt me and I was sick again, after the ale. I have not fed properly for too long," it looked over at the entrance to the Pit. "You must go. The Chosen will return and kill you."

"No. Not without you," Mat growled. "I won't leave you here just to have you come after me in my sleep. That not what I want."

"What do you want, Matrim Cauthon?" its head tilted again. "It is never…clear."

"I'll tell you when I know," he glanced away. "I…don't know what I want, really. I'm so confused over everything. I don't know myself anymore."

"You hate me," it stated, and Mat shook his head.

"No. No, I don't hate you. I only hate what you do. What you stand for."

A smile grew on its lips and it blinked slowly.

"I am glad to hear that," its eyes gazed up at the rolling clouds. "I do not hate you either. Perhaps, in time, you would feel for me like I do for you. Even though it is difficult."

"I think I already do."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. The _gholam's_ face turned toward him, and for a few moments they just stared at each other. Mat gave a small smile. "Light blind me and my wool headed ways."

The _gholam's_ lips pursed and a fierce, determined expression grew.

"I will not kill you, Matrim. I refuse. If they want you harvested they will have to find another _gholam_."

"That's what I like to hear," Mat bent down to look at where the metal was jammed into the stone. "So lets get you off this thing and on towards someone who-"

"You have not been listening," it interrupted, other hand raised to silence him. "I cannot be freed from this weapon or you will be killed."

"Well what do you suggest?" Mat leant on his knees "If I leave you here they'll just find you and set you after me."

"And if you die, your cause dies with you. I must not be allowed to harvest you," It frowned to itself. "I…I cannot. I do not wish to continue to work for them if I have killed you. It would hurt."

"People don't generally get on well if they've killed someone they care about. It's an emotion thing."

"I understand," it nodded. "I refuse to be locked up again, in a box or a cell. It damages my thoughts."

Mat remembered what he had been told of the state Rand had been in after escaping from his time in the chest, when he was captured. Being held somewhere alone like that did bad things to people; even _gholam_.

"What can I do? I won't leave you here."

"You do not have to," its eyes drifted down to his chest and rested there. "How long did you have the silver thing? That is the only thing that would have stopped balefire."

"Since the Royal Palace. I slipped through a gateway to Egwene and picked it up."

It blinked a few more time.

"Why did you not burn me?"

"You weren't trying to kill me."

The _gholam_ glanced up at him.

"I am trying to harvest you now, so you will burn me," it told him. Mat shook his head.

"No. This is different. You don't want to. You're pinned to the bloody ground. I didn't hurt you to punish you, just to stop you from tearing my flaming head off."

The _gholam_ paused and simply gazed into his eyes for a moment. Its fingers reached out toward him again and stroked the ground near his britches.

"Matrim Cauthon…I asked you once not to kill me. Now I ask the opposite. I need you to give me your silver fox."

"What…?" Mat's hand went up to his chest and gripped the medallion. "No," he shook his head. "No."

"You would rather I attacked you in an alley and harvested you?"

"I won't let you have it," his lips drew back in a snarl.

"We are both survivors, Matrim, but not this time. Only one can live."

"Not like this! Whatever happened to a fair bloody fight?"

"No fight between us would be fair. You know that."

"You're not having it!" He stuffed the cool silver back into his shirt. "We'll find a way to sort this, we will."

"You cannot save me. Not this time," its face grew into a twisted mask of anger and desperation. "Please. Do not make me harvest you. I cannot…not in my thoughts."

"I won't kill you just to save my own hide," Mat's nails dug into his palms. "Not like this, pinned down and stuck."

"You are important. By saving yourself you will keep everyone that supports your cause safe as well."

"Don't you _dare_ start that Aes Sedai talk with me, _gholam_. I know perfectly well that you don't care a fig for anyone on my side." Mat blinked away fierce tears and pressed his nails in harder.

"Please Matrim. I cannot think about harvesting you then continuing to work and be ordered. It would hurt. I have only felt thought-hurt a little. Please, do not make me do it."

Mat grit his teeth and glared down at the _gholam's_ pleading face with wavering vision.

"Light burn you, shadowspawn. What about my hurt? What am I supposed to do once you're gone? You've made me…stuck on you!"

"I did not intend to."

"Well you did. Bloody creature."

"Matrim, please."

"I can't!" Mat gripped the foxhead through his shirt and the _gholam_ turned away, its face etched with pain and fury. For a while there was silence. Mat fought to control his urge to weep. Everything had gone so wrong. So completely and utterly wrong.

"I would rather die now, after our journey and our dance, than die after I have harvested you and taken the silver thing from your body. Do not punish me like that."

Options and choices began to fade away until Mat found himself being led inexorably down one path. Had the dice been warning him of his near-death, or the choice he had to make now?

It was the _gholam_ or everyone else. Sooner or later the shadowspawn would catch up with him and kill him, despite its agony over doing so. If it got him before Tarmon Gai'don everything was over. Like everything else nowadays, this was about Matrim Cauthon's flaming responsibility.

Burn it, why couldn't the bloody creature have become obsessed with Perrin?

Slowly he reached round and pulled off the medallion. It lay in his palm, leather cord curled like a sleeping snake. He licked his lips and swallowed before attempting to speak.

"What do I do?"

The _gholam's_ head tilted as it gazed at the cold silver, so calm and controlled in its own restrained way. Mat felt a hot tear spill down his cheek. It trailed a burning path down over his chin and dropped to the rock below.

"Take off the leather," it told him. Mat fumbled with it and his hands shook as he unthreaded the cord from the medallion. He dropped it to the floor and clutched hold of the foxhead.

"Will it hurt?" He asked, and his voice broke. "Will it be quick?"

The _gholam_ smiled softly and raised its head to look at him from a better angle.

"You must promise to get your fox back, afterward."

Mat flinched and shook his head.

"No, I-"

"_Promise_ me, Matrim Cauthon." Its eyes blazed. Mat's shoulders dropped in despair and he nodded his agreement. The _gholam's_ smile faded and it watched him as he knelt there, empty and defeated. "I would have liked to have touched you again," it told him, and Mat looked up from under his brows. "But I am happy with your words." It reached out and opened its palm. Mat swallowed again. He didn't know if he could make himself hand the foxhead over. Maybe if he waited long enough the _gholam_ would change its mind.

As if it were another person, he felt himself hold the medallion out between two fingers. The _gholam_ raised its hand, and paused just inches away from the silver. Mat knew he should say something. _Anything_. Tell it how he cared for it or how he would miss it, or even just say goodbye, but his throat was locked tight.

It looked up into his eyes and tilted its head. A choked sob escaped from between Mat's lips and he went to pull his hand back but the _gholam's_ arm darted forward and snatched it from between his fingers. Its skin hissed and burned and the stench of fried meat filled the air. Mat cried out and lunged to fight for the medallion back, but before he could get a grip of its wrist the _gholam_ slipped the silver between its lips and swallowed. Its body arched in agony and a moan escaped from its clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut. Uncaring of whether it was still capable of killing him, Mat grasped hold of its head and held it to his chest. The _gholam's_ hands scrabbled against the loose stone on the slope and its fingers jerked in spasms. Mat found himself praying that it would die quickly, that this pain wouldn't last and drag on as the medallion burned it from the inside.

Its whole body began to shudder and the brand mark on its cheek hissed as if newly burned there. Its eyes fluttered open and rolled in their sockets before fixing on his face. Mat stroked his fingers along its neck and felt the heat from the brand on its throat.

"I'm sorry…" he choked out and the _gholam's_ lips parted as it struggled to reply, even now. Nothing but a cracked sound came out. The medallion had stolen its voice. Mat shook his head and blinked through his clouded vision. "I'm sorry."

Before it was too late he bent over it and pressed a soft kiss to its mouth, tears leaking from between his lashes. The _gholam's_ lips quivered against his own and he felt one of its hands grip his shirt. For a moment he pushed away all the guilt and pain and was just plain Mat Cauthon, and this kiss was the only thing that mattered. This was how it should have been; no choices or dice or medallions.

The _gholam_ gave another violent shake and its hand clenched tightly on his shirt. A ghost of a breath passed between their lips and the shuddering ceased. The hand slipped down across his chest to slump on the ground and Mat gave a sob of despair. So slowly he pulled away. The _gholam's_ blank hazel eyes stared upward at the clouds above it, but they saw nothing. It lay still; no sign of the inner damage showed. Apart from the stillness it looked deceptively alive. Mat bit his lip, afraid to move. Moving would spoil the illusion. Moving would mean he would have to complete his last promise.

His strength gave out and he slumped forward. The _gholam's_ limp body went with him and rested back on the rocks as Mat's hand still held its neck. A quiet moan spilled from his throat. His head fell forward and he rested his cheek against its chest. He stared out across the slope, at the odd flashes of red and blue light and the upward lightening, and his body felt cold and drained.

Maybe one day he'd move from his spot, but right now he would stay here with the creature that had both almost killed him and then saved his life.

* * *

**Tbc**


	22. Epilogue: The question

**Disclaimer: I do not own Wheel of Time or it's characters.

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Epilogue

The jagged stone teeth cleared Moridin's head by a good inch as he returned to the light of Thaken'dar. The Great Lord seemed, if not happy by the recent happenings, at least satisfied by his Nae'blis' handling of the matter. The loss of Nerim and capture of Ilsa meant little to him, and although Moridin found their eliminations unfortunate, he had to agree. Where one Darkfriend or Black Sister was knocked down, another would rise in their place. Harsh, but this was war. You sometimes lose. Paaran Disen had taught him that much.

The Great Lord had not told him the details of the _gholam's_ punishment, save that it much set out after Cauthon again. A cruel order, perhaps, but he was not one to question his master's wishes. No, he would tidy the Shadowspawn up and set it on its way. Then he could go back to his previous weavings and perhaps have a hot glass of wine.

He stepped out of the entrance and back onto the rough mountainside. The cold air immediately hit him and he pulled up the barrier against it. Perhaps, considering his less than pleasant appearance at the moment, a bath would also be a wise idea.

He frowned and crossed his arms. There was no sign of the _gholam_, but he had told it to wait. Unless another Chosen had turned up and overrode his order, the Shadowspawn should be sat on the rock. Perhaps it had fallen over or passed out. It had seemed worn and weak after its return from the Pit.

His skin gave a sudden sharp prickle as _saidar_ was channelled somewhere nearby. Perhaps another of the Chosen had come here, then. His frown deepened. None of the female Chosen should be anywhere near here. Someone was up to something, yet again. The prickling abruptly cut off as whoever was responsible for the channelling cut off their weaves.

Careful not to lose his footing he stepped up to the boulder where he had last seen it and pulled himself up onto it. From there he could see most of the valley. His eyes peered about as he tried to catch sight of either the _gholam's_ ruffled appearance or the channeler. Only a few wandering _saa_ obscured his vision as he scanned the barren landscape.

There, just a short way down the slope, he saw something like a rod jut from the rock. He squinted as lightening flashed up from a few paces behind the metal and momentarily blinded him. Cursing in his head, he rubbed his eyes and waited for the streak across his vision to disappear. As things became clear again he saw boots spread out and he followed them up to a familiar grey coat. The rod pinned the _gholam_ to the slope and it was unmoving. Its hands lay still, head slumped to one side.

Moridin immediately jumped off the rock and half ran, half slid down toward it. Sharp rocks cut his hand as he used it to keep his balance. Skree flew out from under his boots as he pulled up beside it, digging his feet in to aid his halt.

The _gholam_ stared sightlessly somewhere behind him, its lips parted. It was completely still, the rod, or rather the arrow Moridin recognised as the weapon that had been originally used to capture the creature, had trapped it fast. It must have been too weak to pull the metal from the rock.

He bent down and stared at it in shocked silence. This was impossible. Nothing could kill a _gholam_, especially not just being pinned. It hadn't been so weak that it would have died from lack of blood. And where exactly was the person who had done this?

He looked up and gazed around. There was no one in sight save the shadow-forgers, and _they_ certainly weren't able to channel.

The weapon came from the White Tower, but no Aes Sedai in her right mind would travel to Shayol Ghul. Unless… The brief flash of _saidar_ could have been a Gateway. But only black sisters would know enough of this place to able to make one.

As he looked back at the _gholam_ he noticed that the top few buttons of its coat was undone. Wary, he reached out and undid the fabric as far as the shaft and parted it to reveal its pale chest. A deep, bloodless wound that seemed to reach far into its body was there, where a normal mans breastbone would be. Charred skin marked the edges of the incision.

Cauthon's medallion.

Things slotted into place; the woman with al'Thor had had the crossbow, Ilsa had been taken captive and knew enough to make a gateway to Shayol Ghul, Cauthon wanted to kill the _gholam_ before it could kill him.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He should have bought Ilsa with him, or dealt with Cauthon himself.

Something niggled at the back of his mind; Cauthon's reaction just before al'Thor's balefire had forced him to escape with the _gholam_. Cauthon had, if his memory served correctly, told him to let the shadowspawn go, then called him a 'goat kissing whore.' Not the reaction of a man who wanted the _gholam_ off his back.

He shook his head and began to button up its coat again. He had the unpleasant feeling that he would never know completely what had gone on and why Cauthon had killed it, and as much as the lack of knowledge pained him, he would have to explain things to the Great Lord as best he could.

He sat back and looked at the _gholam's _almost shocked expression. Had it been surprised by the pain? Or who had killed it? Or something else entirely? Thoughts swirled through his mind but none were satisfied. Perhaps one day, when Cauthon was captured, all of this would come to light. Until then, he was left with the main unanswered question; Why?

Shadowspawn and Chosen were not meant for emotions; especially not complicated and consuming ones that could confuse even the most stable of men. Perhaps the _gholam_, like he himself had discovered many years before, had realised that in the end.

* * *

**Three weeks later**

Mat twirled his hat around in his hands idly as he slumped against the window frame. Bright Tearen sunlight shone through the glass onto his face but he hardly felt its warmth. He was bored stiff of this room and his enforced 'bed rest'. What good did it do him? So it gave his body chance to heal and get its strength back, but what was he supposed to do all day? Counts cracks in the ceiling?

His nurse, a firm, older woman, whom Rand had personally put in charge of him after he had found out about the visit to Shayol Ghul, had taken all his clothes so that he couldn't escape from the room and go 'wanderin''. So here he was, left with nothing but his hat and medallion. She had even taken his bloody scarf!

His fingers drummed against the brim of his hat. To say Rand had been angry after he had discovered Ilsa gone was a vast understatement. In fact, as Maritel had explained most of what had occurred with Ilsa and at Shayol Ghul, Mat had been certain his friend was going to clout him one with his sword hilt. Of course at that particular point he wouldn't have much cared. If it wasn't for Maritel forcibly pushing him through the gateway home he would probably have still been at Thaken'dar. After the _gholam's_ death his whole world had become numb and unreal, as if it were all happening to another person. If Rand had have hit him, he probably wouldn't have felt it.

He and Maritel had only spoken once since then, when she had told him that if it were up to her, she would never see his trouble-making face again until Tarmon Gai'don. Mat had whole-heartedly agreed. Maritel was a reminder of what had happened, and those were best ignored or buried. The medallion went into the first category. The sight of it still sickened him, but his promise and his sense wouldn't let him throw it away. The pearl-handled razor the _gholam_ had given him was currently stuffed at the back of a drawer. That was best left buried. Perhaps he'd get it out and look at it again, but right now he didn't want to face it. That, the yellow handkerchief, and the still healing wounds on his stomach and arm were the only things left of his journey. He'd refused to let anyone Heal him.

Like Melindhra before, the _gholam's_ death lay heavy on both his heart and mind. He tried to avoid thinking about it when he could, but it just refused to go away. Sometimes he half expected it to squeeze under the door and tell him in that calm voice how stupid he had been to think he could kill a _gholam_. He told himself that it had been too easy. That there _must_ be a way it was still alive, or a way the Dark One could bring it back from the grave. At some point over the past few weeks, he had lost track of time, he had spent two nights and days sat at his window just staring down at the road, waiting for it to turn up. Then he had dropped to the floor and fallen asleep there, and his nurse had found him in the morning with a crick in his neck and a chill. Once he had heard a rustling in the wardrobe and had been positively certain it was in there waiting for him. When he'd yanked the door open it had been bare, and he'd kicked and cracked the wood in his anger.

He couldn't talk about it. All Rand knew was what Maritel had told him; the _gholam_ had rushed at Mat, the arrow had pinned it, and Mat had killed it with his medallion. Rand had called him a stupid woolhead for ever thinking a _gholam_ of all creatures would ever come over to the Light. Mat kept quiet. If people found out about what had actually gone on, not only would he be thought of as mad, but he'd probably be accused of being a Darkfriend to boot.

Sometimes he felt like screaming. When that happened he found the best thing to do was to sit in the corner and close his eyes. He hadn't cried much. He'd never been one for weeping as he generally found it did little but made his head stuffy and his eyes hurt. Besides, if nurse caught him she'd ask why. Total despair had only caught him once, and that time he hadn't been able to stop weeping until he dipped his head into the wash basin and nearly drowned himself.

No, better to plan battles he'd made up in his head, or look for birds out the window. He was pretty sure the _gholam_ would be unimpressed by the emotional wreck he had become, but then the bloody thing shouldn't have gone and swallowed the flaming medallion. His appetite had all but gone and he only ate because the nurse had threatened to come and sit on him until he did so. Nights were the worst. That was when he was left pacing or counting cracks in the ceiling. Sleep often took a long time to find him.

He sighed and leant his head against the glass. This evening Rand was going to come and talk to him about the Seanchan. Lots of fun to be had there, then. Right now Tuon was one of the last things he wanted to think about, closely followed by the prospect of returning to Caemlyn, and facing up to Egwene.

The sun was still high in the sky and he just knew he'd spend the rest of the day sat on his backside watching the birds. Frankly he had become just a little fed up of it. He hopped down off the windowsill and looked about the room. That was it; Mat Cauthon was getting out of this room before it drove him completely crazy. He jammed the hat on his head and whirled around to the chest of drawers, jaw tight. The top drawer slid open and he rummaged through until he found what he was looking for; the yellow handkerchief. If nurse wouldn't let him have his scarf, he'd have to make do. Right now he wanted to gamble, drink some ale and hear the sound of real dice tumbling.

Mat pulled the handkerchief out and carefully unwrapped the razor from inside. He paused for a moment and ran a thumb over the engraved handle. He remembered the _gholam's_ uncomfortable embarrassment when it gave him the present. Despite himself, he smiled faintly. That had been a good night.

Ever so gently he set the razor back into the drawer and closed it again, shutting away his memories as he did so. One day he might be able to think about the _gholam_ without it hurting, but not right now.

He tied the handkerchief around his neck and checked himself in the mirror. Aside from his nakedness, he looked alright. Certainly presentable enough to do some gambling, anyway. That was if he could find some clothes, but he was pretty sure that if he could sneak into the servants quarters, he'd find someone who'd lend him britches and a coat for the day.

He grabbed a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around his body. He'd been thin and stork-like before, but the past three weeks had taken its toll. Maybe nurse was right; he needed to eat more. Wouldn't get anything done looking like a skeleton.

As he tucked the sheet under an arm to hold it closed he stepped up to the door and peaked through the keyhole. No sign of anyone outside. Time to take his chance while it was there. Mindful of the squeaky hinges he twisted the door knob and pulled it open. His head turned to look down either end of the hallway; the coast was clear.

Silently, he slipped out of his small little room to freedom, and closed the door carefully behind him.

- Fin -

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**This fanfic would never have been finished without the feedback I got from everyone who reviewed. I'm not at all confident about my writing, and you guys gave me the umph to keep going - especially after the RL problems I had and my long hiatus between chapters 6 and 7.**

**Thank you very, very much. I very much hope I haven't disapointed.**

**- EvilD**


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